


Shark Puppy by Chance, Family by Choice

by brainjuicey (anzietyfreak)



Series: The Shark Puppy Prequel-verse [1]
Category: IT (Movies - Muschietti), IT - Stephen King
Genre: A Lot of Gay, Abusive Parents, Anxiety Attacks, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier Are Best Friends, Mentions of homophobia, Multi, Neurodiversity, One Big Happy Family, Richie Tozier Loves Eddie Kaspbrak, Richie Tozier's Internalized Homophobia, Runaway Richie Tozier, Shark Puppy AU, Sonia Kaspbrak's A+ Parenting, ben's mom is the only valid parent and she is mentioned briefly, bill denbrough's mermaid obsession, drummer!Eddie, eddie running, featuring!, found family trope, he drums quite fast too, he runs quite fast, i simply do not see canon, nothing graphic or triggering, rsd
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-02-16
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:14:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22724494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anzietyfreak/pseuds/brainjuicey
Summary: “Shawty, I don't mind.” He remembered the advice Mike had given him about lifting with knees not his back as he lifted the speaker off of the trolley and into his arms.“Is that— Are you trying to be Kermit the frog?”The guy looked up at him from where he was sitting at the bar. He dropped his glass of water onto the bar and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.Something in his quick movements and clenched jaw made his demeanor more fitting for a feral cat. His outfit did little to help Richie’s growing crush, with his khaki shorts and polo t-shirts that were seemingly endless—every time Richie saw him he was wearing a different colour. Which, admittedly, hadn't been that many times, but Richie still thought it was weird.Someone with such a ridiculous wardrobe and a cute face? Richie was a goner.And bingo, he’d gotten his attention.“Why, did you think it was sexy?”
Relationships: Ben Hanscom/Beverly Marsh, Beverly Marsh & Richie Tozier & Stanley Uris, Bill Denbrough & Mike Hanlon, Bill Denbrough/Mike Hanlon, Eddie Kaspbrak/Richie Tozier
Series: The Shark Puppy Prequel-verse [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1634110
Comments: 10
Kudos: 27





	1. A Series of Meetings

**Author's Note:**

> big thanks to everyone in the shark puppy discord server for inspiring me and supporting me through this entire thing, i love y'all. also jay i owe u my life! thank u sfm for beta-reading this monstrosity and also encouraging me and just being in my life. 
> 
> bitches will be neurodivergent and hyperfixate on a stephen king universe, join a discord server from tumblr to yell about it and somehow find their found family along the way. and im bitches. 
> 
> hence the inspiration behind this fic. man these losers really be out here saying that there is nothing more important than loving with ur entire fucking heart as recklessly as possible and it's incredibly sexy of them. projection? who's she she sounds sexy. 
> 
> n e ways, the set-up is: stanpat are in a long distance relationship between cali and arizona where they're from. ben is from nebraska, he's a hick essentially, except i thought nebraska was in the south of the us so he's kind of southern. no regerts. anyway so richie & bev are runaways, bill's parents are famous, and eddie is living with his mother. mike works for his grandfather at his bar. they all meet one way or another and decide that they would like to remain friends forever, if possible.
> 
> if anyone from california points out the santa monica isn't technically a part of the city of los angeles you are dead to me. im european ok america is already very confusing.
> 
> if you leave kudos and a comment i am legally obligated to offer you my hand in marriage <333

**Beverly**

Beverly stuffed as many of her clothes as she could fit into a duffel bag, deciding at the last minute to grab the sleeping bag Richie used when he snuck in sometimes and her heaviest pair of boots. She left her necklace with her bedroom key on her dresser, keeping the door locked from the inside to hopefully to buy her some time when he—

If he woke up. 

A dark part of her wanted him to die, to rot inside his own bathroom with no one to notice him missing. But another part of her wanted him to wake up, so he would know that she’d left; that she’d been strong enough to leave him and that he’d be alone—he’d die alone.

But not her. She wouldn’t rot in that shit-hole town any longer.

She climbed out of the fire escape and dropped her bags on the tarmac below the rickety metal, the thump of them landing a note of fresh finality that invigorated and terrified her at the same time.

Lugging everything to Richie’s house was a hassle, but not impossible.

The dusky glow of the moon rising lit her path down his driveway, as she carefully hid her stuff behind one of the bushes by his back door. She crouched over to the window that led into the Toziers' living room. 

She tried not to breathe too deeply, not wanting to fog up the glass and leave evidence. She squinted and let her eyes adjust to the light inside.

Richie was sitting beside his sister, her legs thrown over his and his parents sitting stoically in their respective armchairs. She'd only met Mr. and Mrs. Tozier a handful of times, but even she knew they weren't very pleasant to be around.

Richie was unrecognisable. He was sitting still for once, and he had a grim, blank expression on his face. She frowned.

He'd been acting different lately, a little more morose maybe, but mostly himself. Were things bad at home again?

Bev cursed herself internally for rejoicing, hope erupting in her that she mightn't be alone when she left. She couldn't stay in town knowing she was dead meat whether her father woke up or not. Who else could have hit him over the head in the bathroom of his own house other than his no-good delinquent daughter? 

That was the gossip going around about her, anyway.

It brought a smile to her face—delinquent. She liked to think she was a bad-ass like that, like a biker chick who kicked assholes with steel-toe boots and wore red lipstick and kissed whoever she liked. With no one she had to answer to.

She saw Richie's face light up a little and he nudged Sadie, his sister, as his same old goofy grin spread across his face in a way that let Bev know he was doing the Italian Guy.

She caught a glimpse of Mr. Tozier saying something, a sneer pulling at his face, and Bev’s mouth fell open in indignation. Richie brushed his sister’s legs off his lap and stood up, storming off with his mouth screwed shut.

Beverly jumped up from the ground, immediately climbing up the drainpipe with practiced ease and resting her knee on the windowsill. She knocked and slid it open.

“Hey, Rich, you okay?”

“Hey, Bevvie, how are we doing this fine north atlantic evening? Derry weather is shaping up to be a rough winter, a steady gale forcing temperatures to drop like flies state-wide,” Richie said with his weatherman-slash-sports commentator voice. It was multi-functional—maybe one day they’d get good enough to be distinguishable from each other.

“I came to say goodbye. I’m going away,” Beverly said, her voice seemingly steady and firm save for the hint of sadness in her tone.

“Oh? Where are we going this time?” he asked, excited about the option of escaping the house for a while, maybe even a few days—not long enough for anyone to notice. Or care.

They’d been doing this for nearly a year; ever since Beverly had gotten her license, she’d taken to driving away in the piece of shit car that her elderly next-door neighbours had been looking to trade for parts. She’d done work for them every day for that entire summer to pay off the car, and she still didn’t have gas money.

They found it anywhere they could while scrounging and scraping together, even pretending to be beggar kids once when they got stranded in Bangor with no gas just so they could get the 4 hour drive back to Derry.

He didn’t care where they were going next, he just wanted out.

“Rich, honey, I’m not coming back this time,” she said, no room for negotiation in her tone. 

“What’s this nonsense, then, eh?” Richie tried to joke, but it fell as flat as her blank look. His mind raced with thoughts of a future without Beverly in it. She was everything to him; his best friend. 

“Like hell I’m not coming with you!” He launched off the bed.

“Calm down, dude! I’m not leaving right this second. I thought I’d crash here tonight and leave in the morning before they realise anything is wrong,” she hushed him.

“...Wait, what d’you mean? Bev, what happened?” he asked, dropping to his knees and scanning her, as if he would be able to see bruises through her winter clothes. “Are you okay? You know you’re always welcome at casa el Tozier, mi castle est su castle, honeybun,” he continued, backing off as his rambles were met with nothing but silence. She laid her hand over his where it rested comfortably on her knee.

“I’m serious, Richie,” his face crumpled, “I’m leaving in the morning.”

“I’m coming with you then. Let me pack my bag, so we can be ready to go before my dad wakes up.”

Beverly felt tears threatening to spill out of her eyes, “I love you, Richie. So much. You’re the only family I have.”

He gathered her in his arms. It was getting harder to hug lately, since he’d been getting taller everyday, but she slotted her head under his chin and held on tighter, knowing he felt the same overpowering sense of connection and pure love towards the other. Their relationship had never fit into the expectations and labels their peers placed on them, whether they thought they were fucking or dating or just friends.

They weren’t any of those things, they were just simply them. 

At that moment, it was clear to her that there was never an option of leaving Richie behind or abandoning him without any notice. She couldn’t have done that. How could she abandon him when he was already so alone?

The sudden clarity hit her like an ice bucket of relief and fear. She didn’t know what they were going to do, but they had each other, and they always would. Feelings like that didn’t just disappear. There was never going to be a day that she forgot about Richie after he'd made himself at home inside her heart for the last ten years of her forming adolescence.

They had a home together, inside each other, just for them.

* * *

**Bill**

When Bill got in from Seattle that night, the heat was sweltering. From the Santa Monica airport he got a taxi and gave the driver the address to the Hanlons’ venue. All he could think the entire drive there was he couldn’t wait to finally be home. 

Who knew when his dad would demand he pack up and meet him at the airport again? He definitely didn’t and he doubted his careless, inconsistent dad did either. He’d given up on trying to keep up with his father. As long as he did what he was told, he could do whatever he wanted.

And all he wanted was to see his friends. And Mike.

He’d texted Mike with the good news that he was back and had been thrilled to find out the others were in town too. Bill’s heart felt like it would burst everytime he caught a glimpse of a stranger walking down the street. At the sight of anyone who looked like a friend of his, he jumped out of his skin. 

Short, bright red hair reminded him of Beverly. Tall, pasty men with glasses and dark hair reminded him of Richie. Dark skinned, broad, handsome men reminded him of Mike.

He’d played this game his whole life through windows, just waiting for the day when he would see them and it would be them, really. And they’d be so happy to see him, because he’d missed them so much.

Bill quickly wiped at his damp eyes.

He was going home.

Bill could remember the first time his parents dropped him off there; he’d been 6 or so, Mike had been 7. Even then, Mike had been working, doing whatever chores he’d been told to do. And Bill was just trying to find something to pass the time. They’d stuck together ever since then.

Fast friends, with no one else their age around. They’d gone to different schools, sure, but neither of them had ever fit in with the other kids. The snobby rich kids at his private school thought he was weird, and the mean kids at public school bullied Mike for being quiet.

Kids were cruel. He knew that all too well. Being dumped with old Mr. Hanlon and his shy but strong grandson was the best thing his parents had ever done for him.

* * *

**Ben**

Ben stood at the edge of the room, nursing a cold beer, thinking about the crowd around him and the energy in the room.

The set was almost over, the room was flooded with bodies. The anonymity of the city made him feel so free. Here, there were so many bodies around constantly that no one stopped to look at and comment on his own.

There was a beautiful freedom in anonymity.

There had been days, even years, he’d spent waiting for the day that he could get away from that shithole full of assholes who’d made his life hell. But then, he’d found himself too scared to actually kickstart his dreams. The possibility of failure, of it being only his own fault…  
He was there now, and he was going to drink his beer, listen to his favourite band and start to live his dreams.

When his eyes refocused there was a guy around his age, maybe a little older, looking at him over a stack of flyers. He was short but bursting with energy that exuded a certain magnetism, making him seem taller than he was. 

“Hey, man! Are you a musician?”

Ben gaped and nodded mutely, wiping his hands discreetly on his jean clad thighs.

“Here! Everything you need to know, written by a pro, for the pros,” The guy insisted, putting one of the flyers in his hand. His eyes widened.

“Dude— “ he looked back down at the bad-quality photocopied picture of Zack Denbrough, passed out drunk with an arm around a much younger, also passed out woman, on the cover. The title screamed “how to be rock & roll:” in full capitals across the top, and underneath was written “cheat on your wife and hit your kids!” with a liberal use of exclamation points.

“Uh— is this real? Or is this some publicity stunt?” 

“I don’t know, ask my mom, it seems pretty real to her lawyer,” the guy laughed and shrugged it off. Ben’s mouth fell open in horror. The strange, short man tapped the next guy over on the shoulder, “Hey! Are you a musician? Here’s a pro-guide, direct from the man himself!”

“What a fucking asshole!” Ben loudly exclaimed, still staring at the picture. His lip curled in disgust. How old was the woman on his arm? She looked barely twenty. At 22, that was too young for even him. His stomach rolled. So much for his idolatry.

The guy’s head popped back up. He replied “Excuse me?” he sounded so giddy, with a mean edge, Ben felt like he was in an alternate dimension. What the heck was going on? Were people from LA just like this? He had only been there for a day so far, but it didn’t bode well for his future.

“Yeah, who cheats on their wife anymore? That’s such a boomer move,” he said, brows furrowed as he commented more to himself to the guy in front of him. 

There was a lull in the crowd, it was getting late. That was the only reason why the strange man even heard him, but he did and threw his head back and barked out a laugh.

“I’m Bill,” he offered a hand between them, “You’re funny, new guy, what’s your name?”

“Ben, Ben Hanscom,” he said, putting out his hand for him. For Bill. For Bill Denbrough. That night was crazy, stuff like that didn’t happen to people like him. And yet, Bill Denbrough was beckoning him along a bar and giving dap to the bartender on the counter as he walked. For such a small stature, he moved fast, his little legs carrying him with the ferocity of a man who had places to be.

“Follow me, I know da’ way!” Bill exclaimed, clapping him lightly on the shoulder as they walked. Ben made a face at the back of Bill’s head.. What?

“Cluck* cluck* cluck* cluck*” He made a popping sound, repeatedly. 

People moved out their way in the crowd. They were nearing the left side of the venue.

Ben started to freak out as soon as they went through a door and into a corridor. What if he accidentally just joined a cult?

They reached a set of double doors soon enough and Bill shouldered into them with more force than he would've thought necessary, but then he caught the door with his arm to stop it from closing on him and it was heavy.

The room inside was pretty basic, but he was overwhelmed. It was chock full of random pieces of equipment, scattered everywhere, carelessly. The only pieces of furniture were two massive sofas facing each other against the back wall, and there were posters on every single surface possible. The walls, Ben glanced up, even the ceiling.

The sofa faced away from him but he could see some heads over the top of it and his pulse raced at the prospect of meeting so many new people. Some musician he was—couldn’t even meet new people without losing the run of himself.

“Hey, Bev, this is Ben, he called my dad a boomer at his own concert,” Bill said with a grin and ruffled some bright red hair on the other side of the couch. A face peeked out from over the hair and a woman stood up. Ben felt all the words leave his brain. She had to be the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen.

“Howdy, ma’am.” Ben wanted a hole to swallow him up. Why did he say that of all things? Why, why why?

* * *

**Bev**

“Hi, I’m Beverly, but my friend’s just call me Bev,” she blushed through the words. He was southern? She had only seen him from afar for the last few days. He seemed quiet. 

And cute.

She wondered if she’d ever seen him around before then. Her and Richie had met a lot of people while they toured with various groups— from country singers to pop singers. From Bill’s dad’s band, where they’d all met, to Stan’s band the Birds of Prey. Santa Monica was the central hub for them to meet up again when they parted ways.

She and Richie had never parted. They’d stuck together like glue since they left together. They’d lost too many friends to split up. You never knew when you were on the road and only had hometowns, nicknames, scribbled phone numbers and the occasional payphone call until you inevitably lost the piece of paper.

She could remember their back up plans—just in case—that they recited together at night, huddled for warmth in the back of vans and under newspaper. Just in case they got separated and couldn’t find each other. If a week after they got separated they weren’t at Mike’s, go to their hometown and sneak into the attic of the public library. If they weren’t there after another week, they weren’t coming back.

She grabbed Richie by the hand. He slinked over to her and linked their fingers together wordlessly, hunching to rest his chin on her head.

Bill shouldered her playfully as he walked past her and she rolled her eyes at Ben. He looked adorably confused.

He held a hand out to Richie and asked tentatively, “Are y’all…?” he trailed off, went pink and cleared his throat. “I mean, pleasure to meet you. You are?” 

Richie’s droopy eyes lit up when the hand was offered. 

Bev snorted. Bless Ben, he didn’t know what to do. He blindly let Richie turn his hand over and kiss his knuckles. 

He picked it up and kissed the back of it.

“The pleasure is all mine, Haystack. Have we got yourself a real life cowboy here? Do you know how to do the hoedown throwdown?”

Ben paused and his face scrunched up adorably, “Like from Hannah Montana?”

“So you are a cowboy! Oy vey! There’s a snake in my boot!” Richie burst out laughing and Bev chuckled at the strength of his mirth at his own joke. 

“Richie…” Bill scolded from across the room where he was fixing up some papers, “be nice.”

She fiddled with her bracelet and smiled at Ben, “Are you new in town?”

“-homeless, gay and have AIDS, too?” Richie continued and then retorted, “I’m always nice!” 

He detached himself from Bev and pushed her away. She pushed him back even harder, “Go bother someone else, trashmouth,” she hissed at him.

“Yeah, I just got in ‘bout yesterday… I’m settling in hopefully for good this time. I’m tryna get my momma to move out here, I can’t remember the last time I saw her in person.” Ben had this sad little smile on his face. He had a lovely smile. How did he get such soft skin?

She self-consciously pulled her hair from out behind her ear to cover the acne scars on her temple. “You wanna sit?” She didn’t wait for him to answer as she turned and made herself comfy. 

“You don’t sound like you’re from around here, where’d you grow up?”

Bev bristled. 

She glanced around for Richie out of habit. He was always good with deflecting. She fiddled with her bracelet again. Maybe things were different in the south, but no one went around asking people about their history here. It wasn’t a matter of where you’d been but where you wanted to go in California. In the scene she and Richie had been living in, all of them were running away from something, desperately reaching, clawing their way through life. 

It had been rough, sure, but there were good things to life too. Little snippets of love. Real, untainted love. For and from her friends and the people she’d surrounded herself with. If she thought of her existence for too long she would be reminded of the meaningless of everything apart from that warm feeling. 

Everything was worthless, they would all turn to dust eventually. Except for the love that she chose to give and receive as carelessly and recklessly as she wanted. And then hope that they’d given it to the right people. Because she’d known the feeling of receiving love that was twisted and warped into something that burned instead of glowed, but she also knew that she’d survived that and she wasn’t going to let that stop her from living the rest of her life to its fullest.

This friendly conversation, in the company of people she loved, the sounds of Bill and Richie as they wrestled down the hall and the distant thrum of a crowd and a different act on stage, these were the moments of normalcy that she craved.

Talking to someone new, even. Making a new friend, experiencing attraction. Living.

Life was hectic but in a nice way. Exciting but not scary. A different kind of adrenaline, the same kind she got before she performed, even when it was just for her friends. 

“I- Uh… it’s not important. I left it behind and I’m here now. I think I’ve seen you around before, how did you meet Bill?” Bev decided on, ignoring the awkward poignant silence in between his question and her answer.

He ignored it too and that was when Bev decided she liked him and that she wanted him to stick around. 

There was a gentle tremor in his voice sometimes, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to speak so much, like he was waiting for her to tell him to shut up. It spoke of experiences with people who didn’t want to appreciate him and it hurt her heart to recognise it in him. 

She’d listen to him talk all day. 

She knew by the end of the night that she would never give him a reason to think she wanted him to be anything other than himself. 

* * *

**Mike**

Mike came by after his shift and waved at Bev where she sat across from a new guy that he didn’t recognise. 

She didn’t wave back, she didn’t even notice him, she was so caught up in their conversation. He shrugged it off.

“Hey,” he nodded to the sound guy as he searched for his favourite Denbrough. (After Georgie, of course.)

Bill’s younger brother back home in Maine lived with their grandparents because he was, unfortunately —or maybe fortunately— born at the height of their parents’ careers. They hadn’t wanted to lug around a toddler again after having dealt with Bill as a child.

Mike knew that the only lesson they’d learned from that experience was that they weren’t good parents. Deep down they knew it, and that’s why they were so angry with Bill; because he knew it too. It got to the point that whenever Bill got in trouble, he didn’t even care what they said. Why should he? His parents knew it was their fault that he was so apathetic towards them.

He wondered a lot, mostly when Bill was away on tour hopping from schools and taking online classes that never stuck, that maybe he was better off than Bill, despite the money and the talent and fame. Mike was average, and it had persisted still since his average, boring childhood. 

The only time he’d felt happy was when he was with Bill. Otherwise, life for him was simply trudging through the constant mediocrity to get rare moments of excitement. His life was planned out in front of him. Do his work, do what was put in front of him. 

Don’t complain, don’t ask for more. 

That’s what he’d been taught. He knew he wasn’t going anywhere. He could write all the songs in the world and still be stuck on the spot in his grandfather’s bar, wiping down counters and organising rotas.

But Bill? The only direction he could go was down. What else was there to do? He didn’t have to achieve anything— no one expected anything of him other than something outrageous that would get them a clickbait title. Mike’s life was a boring cycle but Bill’s was a toxic, unstable cycle.

The pointlessness of life hit Mike most when Bill was not around. 

It was dull, and hard, and it was probably depressing that the ache in his arms from wiping down tables was the highlight of his night. But at least he’s feeling something.

Deep down, Mike liked to think that his grandfather loved him and that’s why he worked him so hard, teaching him all these lessons. And deep down, maybe Bill’s parents loved him too; they just never came out of their self-centred bubbles long enough to be decent parents. Maybe all parents were simply trying their best. Maybe there was no truly evil parent, because they all loved their kids in the end, or so Mike thought to himself.

No evil or good parents; just a bunch of people, trying to be parents, trying their best. Maybe it was no one in particular’s fault if they didn’t love their kids in the way they desperately needed them to.

That thought hurt the most for him to think about.

Life was okay. These backstage walls hadn’t changed at all throughout his life, and he was scared that he’d be looking at these walls when he’s his grandfather’s age, too. He knows there’s more to life, he just can’t reach out to take it. When Bill’s hands touch his sometimes, he thinks this, this is it, this is what I’ve been missing.

Finally, something worth holding on to.

Bill always pulled away though, in the end.

Mike found Richie and Bill fighting each other in the back alley. He paused before he called out to them. He grimaced at that shameful part of himself that told him he was just like Richie; afraid.

He saw himself in Richie’s movements right there in the alley. The dirty alleyway, where they were struggling around on the filth, discarded rubbish, and all things akin, yet Richie was afraid to touch Bill of all things.

Touching Bill was okay as long as there was a reason. A fight, a mosh pit, sharing a bed when it was cold. Because they’re friends. Friends can touch. 

But only when Bill punched Richie first did Richie grab Bill’s side, and only when Bill had his foot wedged between Richie’s knees to ruin his balance did Richie reach for the other man’s knee.

Waiting. Scared. 

Mike hated himself for that. He hated seeing Richie struggle with himself like that internally, unable to help because he couldn’t even help himself.

“Hey, Losers!”

Bill’s attention snapped to him and he wriggled out of the chokehold Richie had him in. “Mike!” he yelled, and Mike smiled as a reflex to Bill beaming at him like that.

It was stupid. What was he even scared of? That voice in his head told him it was pointless to think about, but the weight in his gut wouldn’t dissipate. And Bill was looking at him like that.

“I have to head out to grab the new shipment for Granda, lock up when you go!” He tossed the keys in their general direction and Bill kicked Richie one last time in the shin before picking them up.

“Yes, sir. Right away, sir!” Richie saluted him.

Mike laughed at Richie’s impersonation of a soldier. It didn’t even sound like a human voice. He didn’t know what Richie had been going for, but it was more robotic than anything. “Fitting,” he commented to himself.

The sounds of Richie ribbing into Bill could still be heard through the stage door. “Mouthy little shit,” he laughed privately at the thought of Bill and Richie joking around. That right there, that feeling of pure love for his friends, that’s what made life worth it.

He absentmindedly hummed the song Bill had come up with last night on his way back through the venue.

* * *

**Beverly**

“I’m in love, Beverly! I told him so and everything!” Richie yelled across the stage as he checked that the jack on the bass was secure. He strummed out a simple bassline to occupy his hands and sighed, a big goofy expression on his face. 

Beverly entertained her best friend, “That’s nice, Rich,” she commented semi-apathetically and then turned back to Ben. He’d been hanging out with them all week so far. Every chance he got, he’d be in the crowd or following Mike backstage and she gravitated towards him. He was shy, she’d learned, but earnest and open— and very beautiful. 

She realised she’d been staring at him in the eyes for a second too long and snapped out of it, “Sorry, what? Did you say something?”

He laughed a little and she sighed very softly. His chest rumbled with his laugh.

“I said how long has Richie been with his boyfriend?” and Beverly traced his face in scrutiny as he said it, like she’d be able to pick him apart if she detected any discomfort as he said “boyfriend.” 

She brushed the cynical habit off, suddenly hit with the realisation that Ben thought Richie was being genuine, and that she in turn appeared genuinely dismissive, and very mean.

“He doesn’t have a boyfriend!” she assured him loudly, as if that would cover up the anxiety coursing through her. “He falls in love once a week and never even gets their numbers because he’s too chicken shit! Do you even remember the last one’s name?!” The last part was especially loud, aimed directly at Richie Tozier himself.

She didn’t feel guilty for airing Richie’s hang-ups in front of the new guy, it wasn’t anything mean enough to hurt his feelings. She knew his limits, at least. Her pulse was really high, she noticed. Fuck. She clutched at her sternum, pain clenching around her ribcage.

“Hey! I resent that, Miss Marsh. I remember yours, don’t I?” and he appeared at her side, rubbing her shoulder.

Ben stood there wide-eyed, “Are you okay, Bev- I mean, Beverly?”

Richie passed him the Bass and ushered her away, “Take a breather, babe. I’ll take over wooing this sweet young man o’ yours. Why, you must’a worked duh fields mighty fine in your day, darlin.’”

He guffawed and awkwardly held the instrument as Richie fiddled with a control panel. “Is that supposed to be a southern accent?” he laughed.

Switch-pov- Ben beta’d

Richie winked at him—badly, Ben might add, if he were less kind—and twirled his hair at him, twisting the toe of his sneakers into the ground.

It was a dreadful accent, truly, but he liked Richie. The others, the self-proclaimed “losers” of the neighbourhood, constantly made fun of each other, Richie especially. But it was different. He knew malice and cruelty, and this wasn’t that. 

He had known them for a week, only, he needed to remind himself. It felt like he’s lived through life with them already, in a different universe. A past life, maybe.

Richie was so unabashedly himself it was inspiring. He couldn’t imagine being so vulnerable in front of so many people, being so unafraid. They were all special, he had never met anyone like this group of people before. They were all so different; Bev who was so private and Richie who knew no boundaries were apparently childhood best friends. 

Even Bill Denbrough, son of his rock idol, Zack Denbrough, lead singer of ‘Sewer Party’, his favourite band growing up, was just as annoying and annoyed by everyone else’s presence in their makeshift family of a friend group. It was crazy to think he’d been living this long without them. 

For the first time since he’d arrived in California, he felt at home. If his momma was here, it would be just perfect.

Maybe she would like Beverly as much as he did, he thought. He hoped so.

* * *

**Eddie**

Eddie rolled his shoulders to loosen them up, experimentally tapping out a rhythm with his foot. This would be the first time he’d be playing a show, in front of a live crowd who were interested in and also knew music. 

Before now, he’d only been signed to a few contracts to drum for a few smaller solo artists’ recordings, and even a few weddings too. They were all gigs his mother, and also his manager, had deemed suitable for him. He’d never played a real show before, but since his mother had decided to move out to California to get more opportunities for work, they’d been forced to broaden their horizons on that front.

There were only so many jobs to go around in L.A, and he didn’t have any connections.

It was a flyer boy he’d seen stapling something up on a pole in the city one day that brought him to Hanlon’s. He’d gone up to him to ask about whether or not he had a permit to be putting that poster up, but he’d recognised the man when he got close enough to him.

His mother had shoved any number of magazines under his nose, breathing down his neck that this is what rotten boys got up to, he didn’t want to end up like that did he?

The magazines had always laid it on thick that Bill Denbrough was a wild child, who did terrible, rancid things and never got in trouble because his father was a famous musician. Eddie had never been allowed to listen to Sewer Party’s music, so he hadn’t thought Bill Denbrough was very important, but he’d always secretly enjoyed reading those magazines when his mother was done yelling about them.

He’d take them up to his room and inhale the articles, wishing he could do something like that. And maybe there was a safety in the fantasy of being like Bill Denbrough, the secret, guilty wish of wanting to be wild for once. But then he would place the magazine back onto the table where she’d put it, and go back to his real life.

His sensible life. He’d be a respectable drummer for sensible people at their weddings and celebrations, and play back-up for the rest of his sensible, real life.

He took a deep breath in, and let it out again.

They never warned him about how bright the lights were on stage. How did the singers see anything at all? He received a nod, barely discernible, from the lead singer. Stanley was his name, he remembered. He’d introduced himself earlier in the week during their few practice sessions.

He hadn’t spoken to him, though, and to be honest with himself he felt a little sad that he hadn’t gotten the chance to make friends with anyone else in the band.

But he was only a replacement drummer, for the time-being. They didn’t seem very friendly either, though; they were very professional and serious, not at all what Eddie had predicted a band would be like. He’d watched too much Camp Rock as a kid, probably. 

TV wasn’t real life, he knew, but he’d never experienced those kinds of things before. It wasn’t his fault he didn’t know how things worked. Not everyone had to do everything. Some people were just average.

That train of thought reminded his mother. Wasn’t it her who had shielded him away from those kinds of bad things his whole life? She’d just wanted him to have an average, sensible life.

Meeting Bill was a freak-incident that ended up with him getting to audition to fill in with a band though, and he’d jumped at the chance of doing something exciting for once.

Bill had mentioned the gig to him while they were chatting. He’d said his friend Stanley was more his speed and they were looking for someone to fill in that week, somewhere called Hanlon’s. So Eddie had taken a flyer with Stanley Uris’ name and number on the back. 

He’d snuck out while she was doing her shopping the next day to audition for them, his drumsticks digging into his ass from his pocket on the city bus. It had been a disgusting journey—public transport didn’t get better anywhere you went in the US—but he’d been too hyped up to give it much mind.

And now he was on stage with them, the Birds of Prey, and shit— it wasn’t time for him to count them in yet, was it? He blinked the light out of his eyes and twirled his drumstick around nervously.

He heard the lead singer introduce themselves and make a joke, the crowd laughing, and a switch flipped in his brain at the sounds of laughter. It wasn’t that different than playing for a wedding, not for him. All he had to do was play the drums, his favourite thing to do in the world— regrettably to his mother.

But out of all the instruments his music tutor had shown him and tried to teach him, drums were the only thing he’d ever picked up and enjoyed. Something about the precise power of hitting the drum set in the right place, at the right time, the repetition, it made him feel free and powerful. He was setting the rhythm for everyone else playing, and he felt like he was the one in control, for four minutes.

The fact that he was the one they relied on, to be relied on at all, it felt amazing. Hitting the drums and leaving his arms aching, his foot cramping from the kick-drum, he loved it more than anything else he’d ever done in his life collectively.

* * *

**Richie**

“I don't mind If you dance on a pole, that don't make you a ho,” Richie sang, in his best Kermit impression ever—in his humble opinion, “Shawty, I don't mind.” He remembered the advice Mike had given him about lifting with knees not his back as he lifted the speaker off of the trolley and into his arms.

“Is that— Are you trying to be Kermit the frog?” 

The guy looked up at him from where he was sitting at the bar. He dropped his glass of water onto the bar and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He’d been around for a few days, which wasn’t strange, people came and went all the time in Santa Monica. But this guy? He’d caught Richie’s attention.

Something in his quick movements and clenched jaw made his demeanor more fitting for a feral cat. His outfit did little to help Richie’s growing crush, with his khaki shorts and polo t-shirts that were seemingly endless—every time Richie saw him he was wearing a different colour. Which, admittedly, hadn't been that many times, but Richie still thought it was weird. 

Someone with such a ridiculous wardrobe and a cute face? Richie was a goner.

And bingo, he’d gotten his attention.

“Why, did you think it was sexy?”

“Why would I find Kermit the frog sexy? Who the fuck are you, anyway?” Eddie’s eyebrows rose and it caused his forehead to crinkle into wifi-signals.

He licked his lips and jostled the speaker to get a better grip.

“Richard Tozier, at your service,” he announced, “and who might ye be?”

“Was that supposed to be a Scottish accent? It wasn’t very good.”

Richie laughed because he still couldn’t decide whether this guy was fucking hilarious or just an asshole.

“My name’s Eddie Kaspbrak.”

“I’d shake your hand but I’m a little busy,” he said, feeling the weight of the speakers starting to make his arms ache. 

Eddie nodded in understanding but said nothing, staring at the speaker instead.

Richie grew a little self-conscious.

“Right-o, govn’a! See you on the flip--side, eh, Mr. Spag-Eddie!”

Eddie snorted and pursed his lips to stop a smile, and Richie left him be again, actually doing his job again and bringing audio equipment to its rightful place.

“Young man, what do you think you’re doing?!” a shrill voice yelled out and glanced up to see what was going on—because he was nosey, sue him, okay?— only to find the woman glowering at him.

“Sorry, I’m uhh—doing my job? Can I help you?” he dropped the wires he was fixing up to jump down off the platform and talk to her better.

She gasped and leapt away from him like he had the plague or something, which wasn’t really fair because he remembered getting his vaccinations as a kid. And something about it didn’t sit right with him. She didn’t seem like a junkie on a trip, but he hadn’t gotten a very good look at her eyes, either.

“Uhm, can I help you, ma’am?”

“You work here? How disgusting. I hadn’t realised they let faeries wonder about, talking to whoever they please, working out in the open. You’d better watch it, young man. If I see you propositioning my son again, I’ll have you out of here before you can lay a finger on him.”

He glanced over her shoulder to see Eddie standing at the bar, biting his lip and clenching his fists. His apologetic expression almost went over Richie’s head because the second he looked at him, his eyes drew him in again.

Stop getting so caught up in pretty boys, Tozier, a voice in his head told him. 

His head was swimming in memories of bullies in middle school kicking him down and telling him not to touch them, not to look at them, because he was filthy and diseased. Infected with something he couldn’t even change about himself. Afflicted with nothing but the very essence of what made him who he was. Would he never escape the truth of his existence?

Richie’s mouth tightened and he nodded, “Okay, ma’am. Sure thing.” Because what else was he supposed to do? She was a customer and he was lucky to have part-time there at all, doing odd jobs for the old Mr. Hanlon, who, if it came down to it, would rather throw his ass out on the street than deal with an angry customer before could even open their mouth about him. 

And didn’t everyone know employees or gays were to be treated like humans? Even in Los Angeles, even in 2020, sometimes?

It was his fault anyway. He shouldn’t have approached that guy. He should’ve known better. He closed his eyes in an effort to hide from the disappointment and shame he felt as Eddie was led out of the room by an invisible string, following dejectedly behind the rude woman.


	2. The Formation of a Band

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I came to apologise for earlier, my mother, she can be—she’s very… protective,” he spat the word out, “I’m sorry she said those things to you, called you a f—” he licked his lips, “you know, and all of it. Even a stranger doesn’t deserve that thrown at them like that.”
> 
> He saw the guy beside him giving him a funny look from the corner of his eye.
> 
> “Oh? And who deserves it?” A woman with red hair asked curiously, a funny little smile on her face.

**Eddie**

“Hello, I’m looking for Richie Tozier. He works here? Do you know where I could find him?”

The man behind the bar, maybe in his mid twenties, looked up from where he was writing something behind the counter. 

“Who’s asking? Employee’s personal information is confidential, sorry,” he said, not unkindly. He had a very calm energy to him and Eddie felt at ease talking to him.

“I saw him here earlier and there was an incident, I think my m—manager filed a complaint against him with your boss. I’d like to rescind it on her behalf, if that’s possible,” he fiddled with the edge of the counter. What if he got turned away and that guy lost his job? Just because of his mother? 

Guilt wormed its way into his heart.

There was a silent moment where he looked at Eddie in contemplation. Whatever he was thinking must have been positive, because he smiled at him and then pointed to a door at the end of the hall, “go through there, take a left, and then go through the double doors on your right. Look out, they’re heavy.”

Eddie made his way through the backstage of the venue, cataloguing all the safety and sanitary violations he saw along the way. Surprisingly, there were only a couple.

Eddie pushed with his entire body and stumbled through the doors.

“Woah!” 

Eddie frowned at the shouted greeting. He hated fire-doors. He rocked back on the ball of his foot just inside the doorway and took in the person shouting; It was Richie Tozier.

“Guess who’s back, back again, guess who’s back, guess who’s back, guess who’s back…” He trailed off.

His shoulders tensed. There were a lot of strangers in the room, he was outnumbered. He shouldn’t have come. Why did he come, again? He didn’t want to be in an isolated room with weird strangers.

Richie Tozier, oh yeah. The guy who was flailing about and yelling at him from across said room. Nobody turned a head in his direction apart from the man in question, so that put him a bit more at ease.

Eddie forced a strained grin, “Are those the only lyrics to that song you know?” 

Richie didn’t reply, he only threw his arms open and exclaimed, even more loudly, to cover up his slip-up, “D’ere he is! The star of da show, badda _ -bing _ , badda- _ boom _ . You want some c’woffee?”

Eddie was taken aback at Richie. He somehow clocked his accent and butchered it at the same time.

“I’m from Manhattan, dipshit,” he snapped and crossed his arms. He hadn’t come here to get shit, he just wanted to apologise and leave again.

Richie Tozier was so fucking annoying.

He stood up from his seat and gestured for him to take it. Eddie had forgotten just how tall he was, and he flinched back as Richie encroached on his space.

“Don’t fucking touch me, asshole!” he exclaimed out of panic, then grimaced at how defensive he sounded.

Richie stepped back with his palms out in defense, but his mouth was closed. Probably the first time since they’d met that he wasn’t talking.

Another guy who sat with a straight back and meticulous movements said, “Some people have these things called personal boundaries, Richie, maybe you’ve heard of them?” 

Eddie recognised that voice. Stanley Uris? What was he doing hanging out with Richie? They didn’t seem like compatible friends, but who was he to judge? Maybe Stanley secretly had a thing for obnoxious impressionists.

Still no response from Richie. Eddie took the seat offered to him, more out of awkwardness because Richie still hadn’t spoken or moved since he’d gotten up than anything.

“I came to apologise for earlier, my mother, she can be—she’s very… _ protective _ ,” he spat the word out, “I’m sorry she said those things to you, called you a f—” he licked his lips, “ _ you know _ , and all of it. Even a stranger doesn’t deserve that thrown at them like that.”

He saw the guy beside him giving him a funny look from the corner of his eye.

“Oh? And who deserves it?” A woman with red hair asked curiously, a funny little smile on her face. She hadn’t said anything else yet and Eddie got the feeling that she was reading him a little too well. Like she had x-ray vision.

Kind of like what he feared his mother had sometimes.

The word _ ‘me’ _ hung at the tip of his tongue, but he caught himself before he let it slip. That would’ve been so embarrassing, to meet someone and immediately confess your darkest source of self-loathing just because they seemed nice. 

The sentiment that this random guy didn’t deserve to experience Sonia Kaspbrak when Eddie’d been dealing with it his whole life? It was liberating, in a sense, to vocalise. Like he was saying to himself that he didn’t deserve it either.

He rolled his shoulders in an effort to change his demeanor, to throw her off. Just in case.

“I don’t know. Maybe the CIA will rent her out for interrogations,” it just slipped out, he hadn’t meant to say it. But then they erupted into laughter and the red-haired woman reached a hand out to touch his shoulder as she collapsed in a fit of laughter, and Eddie didn’t think about it, he just jerked away from it— 

He didn’t consciously choose to flinch, but his brain had sent up big red alert flags. Screaming at him about strangers and diseases and STIs and—

Beverly retracted her arm just as fast, her eyes widening, “I’m sorry— “

“I’m sorry, I—” they both spoke at the same time, talking over each other.

Maybe his mother was right, maybe he was too naive and delicate; he had just wandered in here and almost confessed to the first guy who asked him a question. He smiled nervously at her.

“Incoming!”

Out of nowhere, Richie jumped on top of Stanley and wrapped himself around him, not touching his head though, or dislodging his kippah. For some reason that stood out to Eddie as he took in the childish behaviour. It touched him as oddly careful and considerate.

Stanley didn’t seem to care about the thoughtfulness of the action. “Get off me, Trashmouth,” he grunted and wiggled his arms out from underneath him. He grumbled under his breath, “ _ Overgrown puppy.” _

“Never, Stanley the manly!” Richie cried and threw his arms around Stan’s neck, almost losing his balance and falling, but Stanley caught him by the arm and pulled him back up from where he would’ve definitely smacked his head into the wooden floorboards.

Beverly turned away and laughed at their antics.

“I just wanted to say I’m sorry,” Eddie interrupted, “I know she’s horrible,” he looked at Richie.

“Wow, such words against your own mother!” Richie said loudly in a posh british voice. He threw a leg out and posed in a mock-faint. Stanley had had enough of Richie lying on top of him and pushed him off his lap. Richie took this opportunity to roll off of Stanley and onto the ground.

Eddie didn’t understand why he didn't just stand up like a normal person.

They all laughed at him landing on his ass. He laughed at himself too and he stood up unabashedly rubbing his ass where he’d landed on it.

Richie Tozier was not a normal person, he decided. Hadn’t he ever learned basic manners? How to act? Didn’t he know that he had to suppress the things he wanted in order to fit what people wanted from him, like Eddie did?

Eddie got up and took a few steps away from them to get a breather from all of it. All that is  _ Richie _ — all-encompassing and _ loud, _ and Eddie just wanted to keep looking at him. He could barely look away.

“I’m just sorry. I think she got you in trouble with your boss, too. But I’ll talk to him if he says anything, it’s really not a problem, I—”

“Ain’t nuthin’ to be sorry ‘bout, ol’ pal,” Richie drawled in a southern accent and he flopped down onto the ground by the woman’s legs. He fit so easily beside her as if they were magnets or jigsaw puzzles. He was transfixed by the way she moved her legs immediately so he could lean against her better. For a second Eddie was hit with a boiling hot rush of jealousy.

He made it look so easy; to be himself and to be loved, and accepted, for it.

Something else in him stirred too though.

“Was that supposed to be the cowboy western voice? You’re losing your edge, man,” the woman remarked, nudging him with her knee.

“I thought it was okay,” Eddie said, still staring at Richie. 

“Aw, Eds, I didn’t know you cared so much!” Richie grinned up at him. With his dark curly hair splayed out like that, his legs too, and his t-shirt riding up a little it was hard for Eddie not to stare.

An adrenaline rush hit him. It felt so promiscuous to be looking at him like that, him lying there on the filthy floor so casually, and he wanted to start listing the bacteria he was exposing his bare skin to but then he started thinking about Richie’s bare skin, his arms were so big, there was so much of it— 

Eddie tore his eyes away and cleared his throat.

“Whatever, jerkoff,” he blushed even harder at that. Where did that nickname even come from? “I just came to say sorry. I’m going now.”

Eddie curled his lip, about to give him a rude hand gesture and leave but Stanley looked at him differently, kindly even, with crinkles in his eyes that seemed old and out of place on his young face.

“It’s okay, Eddie, Richie forgives your mother,” Bev crossed her arms and Stanley gave her a look Eddie couldn’t read, “-we can’t choose who we’re related to. Right, Beverly?” 

She looked solemn for a moment and nodded at him, she turned to Eddie with a kind smile. She really was quite pretty, Eddie admitted. But he could still see Richie grinning at him, staring at him silently, now leaning against the leg of the sofa, still on the ground. He could appreciate the aesthetic of Beverly’s face but it still didn’t compare to Richie’s raw energy. 

Where did he even find that awful neon hawaiian shirt? He was an eye-sore.

“C’mon sit down, Eddie, where do you have to be tonight anyway?”

“I should get back, get home to my mom-”

Richie jumped up off the ground and Eddie edged away to give him plenty of personal space. In case he got any ideas about clambering all over him. He didn’t reach for him thankfully. Eddie internally sighed in relief.

“You live with your mom? Holy fuck— wait, how old are you, dude?” Richie grimaced, he actually looked a little ill, “you’re not like a kid, are you?”

Eddie squawked indignantly and Beverly, that was her name, started laughing again.

“I’m 22, asshole!” Eddie had never cursed so much, and definitely not in front of strangers. Richie brought it out in him. Like every time he opened his mouth he got this itch under his skin he was trying to scratch, “and yes, I live with my mom, she’s done a lot for me to be here right now and I don’t need grief from you, not all of can be fully independent magically the moment we turn 18!” It sounded, even to himself, like he was reciting something told to him by a half-hearted guidance counsellor.

It had actually been an anonymous advice hotline a few years ago when he’d been thinking about applying to college despite his mother’s insisting that he didn’t need to be independent, he was still young, after all.

But now he was 22. He was old enough to drink, technically. But he never had, even when he was alone and had the option. She loomed in the back of his mind and he was scared that she would find out, somehow.

“Eddie,” Beverly said gently, “Nobody said it was wrong.”

“Yeah, anyway Eds, I’ve been independent since i was 17 so,” he scoffed and Eddie regretted snapping, Richie sounded _ upset _ . He hadn’t meant to offend him or to be mean. He’d just wanted them to stop pushing. He’d just been backed into a corner. 

Why were they being so friendly? What were they trying to pull?

“What about your parents, they just let you go off?” he pressed, curious and nervous at the same time.

“Well, we didn’t really ask them, Eddie…” Beverly implored. Like he was simple of something. He wasn’t stupid, what right did she have to use that tone with him?

“What you moved out and you didn’t tell them? What are you guys, like runaways?” he joked, trying to calm himself down. It wasn’t working. He didn’t know why but his blood was rushing, like a panic attack coming on but never hitting him.

“Uh, yeah, Eddie, that’s exactly what we are.” 

Oh. His eyebrows flew up.

It was stated as if Eddie was as dumb as rocks and he resented that, hackles rising, and not knowing how to respond he shrank away from the conversation.

“Hey, you aren’t like some, stuck up rich kid are you like b-b-big Bill right?” Richie stuttered.

“Who?” Eddie asked.

Stanley responded, “Bill Denbrough.”

“Oh, yeah, him. He’s cool,” Eddie didn’t really know what to say anymore. These people were so fucking strange. West coasters, man.

“So?”

“So, what?” 

Beverly snorted, “Are you a snob, or something? A prude?” Eddie was suddenly reminded of the breakfast club and who Beverly reminded him of. 

He crossed his arms. If they were just going to keep him around to make fun of him. “I’m not a snob or a prude, Molly Ringwald,” he retorted and instead of getting mad she let out a loud laugh, Richie and Stanley joining in as well.

Why weren’t they telling him to fuck off already?

He let himself grin a little.

“Eds gets off a good one!” Richie called out, slapping his knee and everything like a fucking cartoon character. Eddie was internally debating whether or not it was weird or endearing, or maybe both.

* * *

He’d stayed for the whole day, in the end, taking his place beside Beverly again, whom everyone seemed to just call Bev.

They were talking about some MTV show called Dance Moms and how Abbie Lee Miller went to prison, when he piped up, “Oh,” he laughed, “I always thought she was exactly like my mom, when I used to watch it. Man, I hated that show growing up.”

He absentmindedly rubbed his arm where he’d broken it. Dance Moms was one of the only shows that he’d been approved to watch when he’d been grounded for weeks after that had happened. The worst two months of his life. He shivered at the memory of it.

The laughter stopped and they looked at him with weird looks again, “What?” he replied in response to their looks.

“Eddie, does your mom—?” Bev asked slowly, turning to face him fully, “It’s not your fault, y’know, if she— “

Eddie got the feeling he knew what she was talking about and he brought his knees up to his chest, his last line of defence, he laughed brokenly, “What? It’s not like that, Beverly, she doesn’t like, hit me or anything. She can be a nightmare but she’s not like— abusive— like— “ he fumbled for words and his voice cracked embarrassingly.

“Do you want to come get some air?” she asked quietly.

Out on the street he took a deep breath, blinking at the bright sun beaming down on the dry street. 

“Eddie, sorry, I know this isn’t any of my business but, does she hurt you?” Beverly asked, softly, so soft, and caring. 

With none of the fake sweetness that he would get from his mother. Eddie’s stomach dropped. No one had ever asked him that before. What did that even mean? Of course she didn’t hurt him, she was his mother— 

“No, I- Beverly, I’m okay. She’s my _ mother _ she doesn’t— it’s not like that,” he insisted.

Beverly pulled down her sleeve to show a cigarette butt scar on her arm, “Just because she’s your family doesn’t mean she can’t hurt you, sometimes it’s the ones who are supposed to love who hurt us the most.”

Eddie recoiled.

“I- I didn’t know, Bev. That’s horrible— I mean, it’s not like that, okay? But, like, I know it wouldn’t be my fault either if it was. It’s not your fault, either—” he sighed and took in a deep breath, laughing a little at the insanity of his day so far.

Bev laughed a little too and she slowly reached out to hug him, giving him a chance to back away, but he didn’t want to. Something about Bev, about all of them, Richie, Stanley, Bill— they made him feel so at ease and wound up at the same time.

Were they friends now? He’d known them for a day but it felt like much longer.

He fell into her embrace.

“Whatever is going on, we’re here for you, Eddie. Something tells me you’ll be sticking around, for Richie at least, even if not for us,” she pulled back and gave him a secret smile and Eddie blushed.

“That’s fucking riduclous, Miss Marsh,” he replied stubbornly, but throwing in a nickname he’d heard being used, because, you know what, they were friends, “Who would voluntarily spend more time with Richie than necessary?” They smiled at each other.

In the space of a few hours he had made some friends. It had been a good day. 

He went home with a bounce in his step.

* * *

**Mike**

“How’s Georgie doing? He’s starting high school in a few months, right?” Mike asked, even though he knew the answer.

“You wanna talk to him?” Bill leant back to invite Mike into his personal space, only to get Mike into the frame, of course, completely innocent. And when his shoulder bumped into Bill’s chest accidentally and Bill just pulled him closer, practically into his lap, in response? Completely innocent.

Mike felt like he’d just run a mile. Where did he put his hands? He couldn’t put them down because Bill’s— he couldn’t put them down anyway. Mike’s face flushed hot like the rest of him. Bill’s breath came out a little rushed beside him and Mike was almost trembling, wondering  _ Did he feel it too? _ Was he not alone in this tightrope walk?

But then the phone erupted with pre-pubescent screams of elation and Georgie’s dyed blue hair and mischievous eyes loaded, slowly de-pixelating.

“Mikey!” 

“Hey, Georgie, how’s school?”

“You’re so boring, Mikey. All Bill’s other boyfriends ask me how much mad puss I’m getting because I dyed my own hair and got a tattoo-”

Bill cleared his throat and chuckled, “-A  _ temporary  _ tattoo, Georgie. And your blue will wash out as well. You’re lucky you got the blond hair from Mom or else you’d have to bleach it.”

Mike cringed a little. Man, at this age, talking with Georgie was like hanging out with Richie on coke, he thought. 

Despite the obvious reasons why he didn’t like seeing that, or being reminded of it, he didn’t mind it with Georgie, who’d always had a special place in his heart. He didn’t think he’d be able to handle Georgie with as much patience as Bill did if they’d have grown up together, if Georgie hadn’t been born at the peak of Mr. Denbrough’s career and shipped off to their grandparents. 

Bill, on the other hand, took the role as a the Big Brother so effortlessly, he knew exactly what to say, how to be cool— 

Mike caught himself staring at the side of Bill’s face and quickly turned away, now addressing Bill instead, “Oh, well of course, Georgie knows what bleaching your hair means, right?”

“Of course he does, he’s a smart kid!”

“Wait, what?! What does it mean? Billy! Tell me!”

Bill and Mike shared a secret smile.

A silent, sudden realisation is all it took for them to burst out laughing.

“Wait, Billy, are you messing with me again? That's not very cash money of you.”

“You’re the one who started it, telling Mike I had  _ sooo _ many other boyfriends,” Bill exaggerated his little brother’s whiny tone and Georgie giggled evilly in response.

“So you agree that Mike is your only boyfriend?” Mike’s brain halted quickly and his mouth dropped open.

“You sly little shit! You’re too smart for me, Georgie!” Bill’s teasing lilt turned into something more genuine, a softer encouragement. One Mike knew he never got when he was Georgie’s age.

“No way, Billy, you’re the smartest guy I know! And there’s a kid in my class who skipped two grades! He plays chess as a sport! Bleugh,” Georgie said and for once Bill didn’t tease him, or the way he sounded more like a lovesick puppy than a griping teenager.

They talked for a while longer. 

“You should sleep soon, Georgie. It’s late over there," Mike fake-yawned.

Georgie yawned in turn and mumbled a sleepy goodbye, “Goodnight, Billy. I love you,” he said and Mike was overwhelmed momentarily. He saw a vision of himself tucking a child into bed, having a family, and maybe, perhaps— 

Bill replied, “I love you, goodnight. Sweet dreams.”

Mike let himself stay close to Bill for a hot second after the call ended before he got up and dusted himself off. He wasn’t dusty, just feeling awkward.

Bill opened his mouth, words caught on the tip of his tongue, when his phone lit up again with an incoming call. Mike stepped away.

“I’m gonna go to bed, goodnight, Billy,” he said, pausing in the doorway, hand resting on the doorframe, but Bill didn’t look up. His mouth pressed in a thin line and his brows furrowed.

Mike watched him tense his shoulders and square them back as he hit the answer.

He didn’t need to stick around to know what was said, so he left Bill to have some space.

* * *

**Eddie**

The door closed behind him, and he flicked the lock shut behind him.

He’d spent the night just sitting around the people he’d met at Hanlon’s Place.

“Eddie-bear? Where have you been, I’ve been worried sick!” his mother asked, her tone sickly sweet and somehow still disapproving. He knew the catch to this question, he’d had this perfected for years. Don’t get annoyed, you’ll feel guilty for upsetting her so much. Don’t leave it unanswered, she’ll just come up with something worse. Don’t mention anything that could lead to knowing what he was really doing. The last part was the tricky bit.

It was easier for him if he pretended it was a game sometimes. 

“I went to see that country-singer that you liked back home live, he was in Hanlon’s Place, remember, where you had that meeting with the manager about— “

The ‘meeting’ had been a private word with the owner (who he could only assume to be Mike’s grandfather) about how Richie gave the “wrong impression to the clientele about the type of venue he was representing” Recalling that, a familiar feeling of discomfort settled in his gut. He leaned over the arm of her armchair to give her a quick kiss on the cheek.

Her eyes peeled away from the T.V like knives. He always hated when she did this; examined him so thoroughly like she could see the lines carved into his bones as he spoke them

Thankfully, she didn’t seem to find any this time.She gave him a tight-lipped smile before reminding him of his routine: pills, shower, bed, and no phone, because she’d read somewhere that it messed with your brain while you slept if it was too close to your bed.

At the sink, he opened the cupboard and took out the pills. He carefully picked them up one-by-one from the palm of his hand and put them down the drain under the guise of getting a cup of water to wash them down, because she’d heard that dry-swallowing made your throat prone to infections.

And he didn’t want an infection, did he?

The shower was the only part of the routine he genuinely did, because once he’d tried to turn the shower on without getting in, but he guessed she’d heard the absence of shampoo bottles and figured out what he’d done. She’d told him that he’d get dirty, and that dirty people got sick. It was a conversation he’d heard so many times, but he still felt just as bad every time. And that feeling was much worse than how good it had felt rebelling. 

His life had to be sorted into things worth getting into trouble and losing sleep over, and things that were not.

The people he’d met at Hanlon's Tavern were worth even the worst guilt he could possibly feel. He didn’t think he’d felt that happy— maybe, ever, in his life.

In bed, he unlocked his phone and found half a dozen new followers, which wasn’t that strange (his Instagram had a decent following) but he clicked on it anyway and his eyes widened in recognition.

_ m.m.mike.han has followed you _

_ stanley_uris has followed you _

_ billiam.eyebrough has followed you _

_ bevrly.m has followed you _

_ ben_hanscom has followed you _

_ dick.toes.are has followed you _

  
  


He found himself smiling at the screen of his phone but he quickly stopped and glanced around, as if there were cameras around his room ready to catch him. He wasn’t even doing anything. He was just looking at his phone, but it felt like he was committing a crime. He put a hand on his neck and tried to calm his breathing before it got out of control.

But he still felt his skin crawling and his ears pricking, waiting for something to happen.

It was just all a big game, he tried to comfort himself. He was playing a part in it, like someone from the Truman show. And those people, down at Hanlon’s Place? They weren’t playing at all. They were playing their own game, with no rules and no consequences. What happened to Richie, or Beverly, and Ben, when they said something wrong? Did they agonise over it for days, sometimes weeks?

Did anyone else have that voice inside their head, telling them everything they did was wrong, that it was going to get him sick, and asking why he didn’t care enough about not getting sick? He must already be sick. Sick at the core. His soul damned.

That voice sounded a lot like his mother’s voice, sometimes.

_ You don’t want to go to Hell, do you, Eddie-bear?  _ He shivered at the memory. Hell; a pit of flames that melted away your skin eternally, your soul tortured forever in the depths of the earth, no way out. Nothing but your own mind as it slowly drove you insane from the relentless torture.

He needed to stop.

Everything just had to stop for a moment.

He shut his phone, plugged it in with the charger hidden under his bed and laid back, staring at the ceiling blankly. His breathing was still erratic, but quiet. Silent, panicking. Because he didn’t need his mother coming in to check to see why he was so restless.

A while later he calmed down and picked his phone back up again. The curiosity was burning inside him. He wanted to see what their Instagrams looked like, he wanted to know what they liked to post, what they thought was funny. He wanted to be included in their friend group.

That much seemed to come true when he received a message from stanley_uris asking for his phone number, to be added to the group chat.

Eddie had never been in a group chat before. He suppressed an excited giggle.

Mike’s profile was pretty basic; a couple of shots of bands at the bar, a couple with his friends, or animals on the street.  _ Wholesome _ , Eddie thought to himself, _boring even_.

He clicked on billiam.eyebrough and was horrified immediately upon it loading. The profile picture was three girls with mermaid tails, from what he could see, and the posts themselves were—was Bill wearing full cosplay of a mermaid? He even had a couple of intense makeup looks with gills on the sides of his face and scales down his neck.

Eddie gagged, thinking, why would you dress up like a fish?

One of the posts had a very intricate design of the words H2O: Just Add Water so Eddie pulled up his search engine and pasted it in the search bar, expecting some Reddit meme or maybe, sadly, a scalie website. 

But no, the first page of Ecosia showed something much,  _ much  _ worse.

Eddie shut his phone screen again, shaky breaths and tears running down his face from the force of his silent laughter. When he fell asleep a little while later, it was to funny thoughts, jokes he would tell Bill, making fun of him, the next time he saw him. 

Not cruelly, but just because it was funny. And maybe Richie would laugh at his jokes too.   
  


* * *

**Bev**

Eddie couldn’t hang that day, the day Shark Puppy technically began. He was meeting his new vocal coach and driving his mother around to do her errands, or so he texted Bev earlier that day.

Everyone was lying around Bill’s apartment when he suggested they start a band.

“Guys, we should start a band. We’re all here together and m-me and Mike have some cool ideas we’ve been meaning to put together with an entire ensemble,” he tapped absentmindedly against Mike’s knee with his fingers, rhythmic and subtle.

“Pass the bowl,” Bev replied. Richie giggled from where he was lying, half in her lap, torso and shoulders hanging off and leaning against the cushions. “Bev and Bill sitting in a band, k-i-s-s-i-n-g!”

She pushed him off of her when he started making out with her elbow.

“Beep beep, trashmouth.” Bill grimaced and passed the bowl to Beverly.

“Oh, piss off, Bill!” Say what you will about Richie’s impressions, but he had nailed Zack Denbrough’s voice and signature phrase.

Stan, the voice of reason, had started a bird puzzle an hour ago and was now staring at the jumbled right-side up pieces blankly. He said, “Bill we’re gonna be split up again in like a week, what’s the point? We’ve always been like this, together for a week, apart for two weeks,” Stanley remarked firmly, “we’re lucky to be together again at all. Do you know how much my dad laid into me that last time I was home? Patty is good, by the way, not that any of you asked,” he added without malice, just a quiet fact.

“We’re sorry, sweetie, we thought you and Patricia… after you came back you seemed so sad, we thought you had broken up,” Bev reached out for him but he was too far away.

He span around from his seated position on the floor, and he gaped at her, wide-eyed, “If we’d broken up, I wouldn’t have come back at all!”

Beverly retracted her hand at his outburst. 

“That’s a bit extreme, Urine, don’tcha think?”

Stan stood up, anger scrunching up his eyebrows, a disdainful look on his face. 

“Woah, horsey, I’m sorry it’s just- you’re what, 23? You’re so young, Stanley, you’ve got your whole life ahead of you, you’d throw it away for someone you only see a few times a year?”

“She _ is _ my life, _Richard._ You’d understand that if you stopped being such a coward and were actually vulnerable for once in your fucking life! Instead of being codependent on Beverly!”

Bev met Bill’s eyes from across the room and he stood up, holding his hands out in a placating manner, “Look, Stanley the manly, maybe we should all calm down,” Bill implored, cautiously placing a sluggish hand on Stan’s shoulder.

“You never know when to shut up, Rich,” Bev whispered into his hair where he was keeled over, hiding his face in the cushion of the sofa. The faint shake of his shoulders was tell-tale enough and she was so sad, yet so angry at the same time.

“Rich, honey,” she rubbed his back. 

He sat up suddenly, and he let out the loudest fart she’d _ ever _ heard, and she’d lived with him for 4 years by then.

She shrieked and clasped a hand over her philtrum in anticipation of the smell. Stanley’s face twitched as he suppressed his laughter, and soon Bill was laughing too, albeit hesitantly.

Richie flopped around onto his back, wiping the tears from his eyes and let out a loud laugh, a little hoarse and from deep within his chest. 

“That was for you, Stanley, dearest,” he sniffed through his chuckles. 

Silence.

“Hey, do you want to hear this sick riff I came up with the other day?”

Stanley sighed.

“Yeah, teach me,” Richie said, like usual when Bill learnt something new, and grabbed his guitar from over the back of the couch, where he could reach with his massive tentacle arms.

“Thank you, arms.”

“Did you just  _ thank _ your arms?”

“Yes, I did, why, do you have problem, Stanlin the urine?” Richie raised an eyebrow at him, his shoulders rising in premeditated defense.

“Okay, fair,” Stan acquiesced, cracking a smile, “they do a lot for us, we should thank them every now and again.”

“I know,” Richie shouted, “All this jerking off they do for me!” his voice thin, Bev’s heart went out to him. Richie could be bleeding out to death and he would still make a joke out of it.

Bev thought back on memories of Richie being told to go away, that he was too much, that he was too  _ Richie _ , and of him wanting to be completely alone because he thought he didn’t deserve to be comforted while he sobbed his heart out. Just because some asshole was coarse with him, he blamed it all on himself. How many times had she whispered into his hair, holding him, telling him how much she loved him, how he was allowed to make mistakes?

The choked out, hollow sound of Richie saying, “I feel like I don’t deserve to live. I’m such an asshole sometimes. I’m so sorry, Bev,” whispered into her shoulder, Richie wrapped up in her arms.

Bev remembered it like it was yesterday. 

She glared at Stanley. He knew what Richie was like, he shouldn't have snapped at him of all people. He'd been there when she'd called him from the bathroom in fear of what was happening with Richie, why he was having a breakdown over something so inconsequential as an insult from a stranger. He'd been the one to suggest where they could get him to a local free clinic.

Rejection Sensitive Dysphoria was a part of Richie, and his ADHD, that he had been living with the entire time she'd known him. She'd promised to always be there for him, and so had Stan. No diagnoses would stop her from loving him and trying to be his friend.

Stan sighed again, and then shrugged tiredly. He sat down on the couch on Richie’s other side silently.

A few minutes later as Bill showed him the chord progression, Stanley laid a steady hand on the back of Richie’s neck. “I’m not sorry, you needed to hear it,” Stan said quietly to him, softly even. But the soothing rub on the nape of his neck, the fingers tenderly running through the hairs there, they said something different.

“So, are we starting a band or what?” Beverly asked, watching Stan’s calm movements and relaxed demeanor. He rolled his eyes at her and gave her a small smile.

She should’ve asked about Patty earlier, somebody should have. Richie hadn’t meant to push him, she knew. _Stupid trashmouth_ , she thought fondly, her heart feeling full and a smile brightening her face as Richie somehow made rude hand gestures out of playing the chords.

His spirit seemed much brighter now. There was a heaviness in her chest in knowing that this would happen again, when Stan and Bill, and maybe even her, weren’t there to help him.

Richie glanced over at her with a smile. It took up his entire face, from his neck to his glasses and even a little more. His eyes were squinting from the sheer force of it.

“I say Eds should be lead singer, he's the sexiest one of us all!"

Bill rubbed his temples, "Richie, he's literally a drummer."

Bev burst out laughing and Bill joined in albeit less enthusiastically.

"Rich, honey, you can't flirt with him when he's not even here," she remarked and he turned to her with an innocent expression, his eyes widened comically.

"Who said anything about flirting? He's just the next best thing to the original sexy Kasbprak, Mrs. K herself."

Stan stared at Bev over Richie's back and gave her a blank look. Without comment he stood up and straightened his collar, then he said, "Okay, that's it. See you losers tomorrow."

Bill's head popped up from where he was fiddling with his phone, "That's genius, Stan! We should call ourselves The Losers!"


	3. Just Seven Bros Chilling in LA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Richie seemed like a clown of a character, not the type of friend he’d ever had before. He was a little too rough and earnest and crude. Eddie was used to polished, refined and vaguely insincere boys, the type of boys who smiled a little too perfectly for his mother whenever they hung out. 
> 
> Those were the type of boys that Sonia approved of. Eddie doesn’t want to think of what his mother would say—no, scream—if Eddie brought Richie into their apartment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> to understand this chapter properly you have to be familiar with this 2min long viral video [slick daddy](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SjomNHogBNo). maybe fleece receive many blessings for their many contributions to the gay community.

**Eddie**

“Bill is a mere prop! For my cinematic magicianry,” Richie exclaimed in his Italian magician Voice, wringing his hands fantastically.

“Well, actually, magicianry isn’t a real word,” Bill interjected.

“ _Well, actually,_ ” Eddie mocked him, “mermaids aren’t real either, but that doesn’t stop you from painting _gills_ on your face and buying fan merch for an Australian T.V show for teenage girls _from 2006_ ,” he replied scathingly, emphasis on the 2006 as if that was the worst part.

“It is not _paint,_ it’s my _Morphe palette_ !” Bill fired back, offended that Eddie didn’t know what a Morphe palette was. He grumbled under his breath that they were his, “ _bills_ not his gills!” and crossed his arms. His face went sullen, like a petulant child.

“Seriously, Eds, what kind of gay are you that you don’t know Morphe? Please don’t tell me you stan James Charles,” Richie joked, leaning towards Eddie.

Eddie choked up and jerked back from his proximity. “I’m not a fucking— ” he went red and shrank in on himself. The words wouldn’t come out of his mouth.

Eddie thought about how Richie seemed to be clawing closer and closer to him the longer he knew him. It wasn’t because Richie was physically bigger than him that he was scared of him, it was what he felt when he notice it.

He had to bend his neck to look into his eyes at this height and he glanced at his lips because they were at eye level. For no other reason. 

They were nice lips, he guessed. He’d never noticed someone’s lips before, unless if he was disgusted by their obvious need for chapstick.

Richie seemed like a clown of a character, not the type of friend he’d ever had before. He was a little too rough and earnest and crude. Eddie was used to polished, refined and vaguely insincere boys, the type of boys who smiled a little too perfectly for his mother whenever they hung out. 

Those were the type of boys that Sonia approved of. Eddie doesn’t want to think of what his mother would say—no, scream—if Eddie brought Richie into their apartment.

Eddie thought about the reaction his mother would have to the type of humour that Richie thought was funny, and then a joke Richie made about the name of a local reservoir came to his mind. 

_Big Tujunga?_ he’d said, _wait did you mean your mom?_

And he had replied, _no, I meant my dick._

“Mind your own business, Tozier,” he remarked. He didn’t care how defensive he sounded. He couldn’t just _say that_ , he couldn’t just _be_ — 

Richie had laughed really hard at that joke. He remembered his laugh, his entire body shook with it and he found himself wanting to smile at the memory. He suppressed that desire.

Bill stood speechless, motionless, hands poised in the hair and a baffled expression on his face. “Bruh,” was all he said, and he sounded so defeated that they all cracked up. 

The weird mood was gone, just like that. Something about them—The Losers, he meant—they all seemed to know what to do to fix things.

He had never been in a relationship that hadn’t existed solely on the basis of having to cater to whatever personality was wanted from him. Having someone be nice to him without an ulterior motive? It was strange. They were strange. 

And yet, he’d never felt as happy as when he was with them.

Richie giggled maniacally, “Aw, wittle Edster. It’s okay, baby, the homosexuals aren’t gonna hurt you, you’re too cute,” he said, but he didn’t close in on him again. He gave him a smile and jeered him, and Eddie had never felt so under pressure and yet so free at once.

If Richie could act like _that,_ why couldn’t he be himself?

* * *

“Wait, I don't, this is going to work,” Eddie said abruptly, scrolling through the footage on Bill’s camera.

“Why not?” Bill asked—he was too excited to not do it at this point, and so was Richie

“You get hounded by the tabloids right? They’re going to find this in like an hour. Everyone with an internet connection is a potential leak-”

“Yeah, yeah, Eddie, I get you, okay, so—What, you want me to be the cameraman? I thought you didn’t want to be on camera either.”

“Look just—Is there anything we could use to cover your face?” 

“I think Mike has something upstairs I could get, hopefully he still kept them around…” Bill mumbled the last bit to himself, and shot off in the direction of what Eddie assumed was Mike’s place above the bar.

When Bill got back he was out of breath, smiling, and holding out the most horrific item of—it wasn’t even clothing, it was a fucking eyesore contraption for your face.

A mask with a shark face on it, except it was hyper realistic and the texture was smooth like cold silicone and—Eddie didn’t want to know.

He closed his eyes and counted to five, ignored Richie delighted whoops and rejoined them, holding the camera tightly in his hand in case his friends got any funny ideas.

His friends. He had known them for barely two weeks, seen them almost everyday, not unlike people he had met in the past, yet he felt completely confident in saying these people were friends. His friends, that he had chosen for himself. And more importantly, they’d chosen him for himself, and not for a persona he’d handcrafted specifically for them. 

He was mean and rough and loud, and they encouraged him. Everytime he freaked out about something it was Richie egging him on, or Bev laughing, or Stan’s silent encouragement.

“We went to this carnival when we were kids, y’see—” 

Bill walked into Richie by accident because, no surprise, there were no fucking eye holes in the cursed shark mask. 

Richie thought that was the funniest thing to ever happen and yelled out to him, “Eds, start rolling! This is quality footage!” and he proceeded to make out with the mask.

Bill flailed against Richie’s hold and yelped out from inside the shark, “Are you f-f-fucking kissing me right now?! Get off me!” Richie’s hands flew off of the shark—and Bill, by extension—and he tripped in his haste to get away.

Eddie snickered, “You’re right, Rich, quality footage. Do it again! Try falling on your face this time. Walk much?”

“Oh ho! Eds-Spagheds gets off a good one! You gotta let me try next time!”

In a turn of events, surprising even himself, Eddie fired back, “I’m sure you’d love to get me off next time, but that’s not how it works, Trashmouth.”

It spilled out of his mouth before he had thought about it. He didn’t even know what was going through his head, but the suggestive tone made him hesitate.

“Eds! This is betrayal.” Richie shouted, smiling like an idiot, clambering up off the floor, “You can’t be hogging all the funny. Maybe you should be the one doing open mic Fridays, Eds,” Richie said, stood up to his full height in front of him, “ with a sharp tongue like that.” 

The way Richie was looking down at him, it did something to him, and he found himself speechless. He swallowed and licked his lips, “I— Uhh…”

“Guys! I can’t see! Where are you?!” Bill yelled from inside the mask.

Eddie jumped and wheezed, turning away from Richie. He grasped at his throat where his breaths were coming out short and fast. A large warm hand placed itself on his back and Richie’s voice asked, “Eds?”

“I’m okay,” he panted, ripping an inhaler from his pocket and breathing it in deeply. He was okay, he told himself. It was just Bill. Bill wasn’t going to tell him he was dirty and wrong, to get away from his friend before he infected him.

It was just Richie and Bill. They were his friends, he was _fine—_

“I’m good! Let’s just—let’s film this already.”

“Is Eddie okay?” Bill asked, and Eddie looked up to see Bill walking very jerkily and tentatively forward with his hands out in front of him.

Eddie smiled shakily. He clipped the strap for the camera back around his neck and held it up in question.

The taller man grinned at him and winked, “Oi, ova’ ‘ere!” Richie called and Bill turned towards them and—

Richie threw a basketball from the ground at Bill’s head, but Bill’s hands shot out like he was anticipating it and— 

“What the fuck, did you just throw a basketball at me?!”

They got it on film and after a little editing, they uploaded the video to their new youtube channel titled, ‘Shark Puppy.’

  
  
  


* * *

  
  


**Eddie**

Eddie laid in bed, phone downstairs, unable to sleep when he started thinking about the day he’d had. As far as Sonia knew, he’d been practicing with Birds of Prey. 

Little did she know, he’d been messing around with Richie and Bill. His eyes shot open, realising how that sounded to himself. He knew he hadn’t been doing anything untoward but the fear and shame still sat there, heavy on his chest in the dark.

A thought hits Eddie in the head. Richie hadn’t lived with his parents in years. Had he been messing around with other people since then? Since he was 17?

Eddie was a virgin. He hadn’t even kissed a girl before. Or a boy. 

But Richie was 21 now, surely he’d kissed someone before. All the losers probably had. Probably even Stanley, who’s long-term girlfriend lived in Arizona where he was from. They were both Jewish, he didn’t know if they were Orthodox or observant but he was pretty sure Stanley had kissed someone before. He gave off an aura of being proficient at sex.

Like Bill being able to get everyone to listen to him, Stan just had a power to him like that.

Maybe Eddie was reading too much into it.

He decided Richie had definitely had sex before, maybe even with Bev. They had known each other for a long time. An ugly emotion made him clench his teeth. Why did he care? Bev and Richie were cool. It wasn’t any of his business whether they had had sex at any point.

But they probably had.

And the thought won’t leave him alone.

He had never cared about having sex that much before. His mother wanted him to be respectable, and chaste, and to probably wait until he was successful enough before dating someone. Probably a woman from her country circle, a debutant that nagged him like his mother.

A shiver ran down his spine. He didn’t want that.

His mother tended to make remarks whenever he got a new job, a higher profile in the music world, that he would need a prenup when he got married. And it made him angry.

Why would he need a prenup? If he was going to marry someone then he would want to be so madly in love that he would never want to divorce them. He wanted to marry his best friend, someone he wouldn’t grow sick of, someone he could grow old with. 

If he promised to marry someone, at any point in the future, it would be for life. 

He fell asleep.

* * *

**Eddie**

Eddie stared at Richie as he tossed the empty packet of Cheetos on the ground and licked his fingers clean. Eddie watched him from the sofa with his lip curled in disgust and a warm feeling settling in the pit of his stomach as Richie popped each of his fingers into his mouth, just the tips of them, where they'd touched the cheeto-dust.

He wiped his wet fingers off on his t-shirt and went back to his Xbox controller. 

Eddie blinked and swallowed. 

"Will you pick that up?" Eddie asked, forcing his voice to remain calm.

"Yeah, ‘course, just give me a minute."

Eddie looked around at the living room he shared with Beverly and their new roommate. They used to crash at Stan’s when they were in town, but he couldn't stomach Richie's habits any longer— or so they had all claimed. So they shelled out for their own place and signed a 3-month lease. Little did their landlord know that they were renting out the other bedroom just to be able to afford it. 

Eddie scoffed, knowing Beverly didn't even sleep there most of the week because she was usually at Ben's one bedroom apartment in North Hollywood. 

He called them out once and been shot down with “Ben’s sofa is more comfortable than Richie’s bony body digging into her all night.”

That was a bit hypocritical of her; he’d gotten an elbow in his side just for asking her because it had inspired an entire series of taunts from Richie. But Richie wasn’t sharp and compact like Bev; Sure, his limbs were a little too long, and his elbows and knees were boney, but weren’t everyones’? His biceps were round and his chest was solid and warm. 

If his knees were pointy, at least his thighs were thick enough to cushion his friends’ heads when they rested against him, and his stomach was soft in a way that made hugs feel good. 

His hands were strangely large, and on almost anyone else, Eddie would be intimidated by a man who could so easily over-power him. But not with Richie. 

The same hands that were big enough to wrap around both of his wrists were the ones that were hesitant to reach out to him, and when they did so it was with gentle, teasing touches. For someone like Eddie, who’d never known a comforting touch, Richie was perfect.

Richie was perfect in a lot of ways, if he thought about it.

He glanced over at Richie, slumped down, and grasped his controller. The end of a very pink tongue stuck out the corner of his mouth absentmindedly and Eddie’s gaze was transfixed by it.

Richie stood up and got a can of coke from the fridge. And he still didn't clean up the packet.

"Richie," Eddie implored, past exasperation at this point and spiralling into frustration at his friend.

Richie jumped over the back of the sofa and flopped back down. "Huh?"

Eddie crossed his arms, "Pick it up, asshole." He counted to ten in his head when Richie went to pick his controller back up again and pretended not to hear him. In return Eddie pretended not to see Richie’s poorly covered up self-satisfied expression.

That fucking asshole. He was doing it on purpose.

"Or what, you'll spank me?" Richie grinned at him and his smile sent a blinding thrill through Eddie, so he kicked him in the side and flushed bright red. Richie barely flinched, his attention flicking from the game to Eddie's blushing face.

Eddie didn't know how he did that, played the game and multitasked at the same time. Once he'd hung out with the losers and Richie had carried an entire conversation with someone and still beat him at Fortnite. 

"Fuck off. And pick up your trash."

"Aw, but baby, my hands are full," Richie suggestively grabbed at his own dick through his sweats and Eddie's gaze flickered to the wall, forcing himself to stop looking at his friend's dick. "Give me a helping hand?"

His friend Dick who was being a dick’s dick?

Eddie bit his lip. He stretched so he could reach Richie's lap and he watched the other boy's face as he learnt down. Richie gulped. His mouth went slack and his eyes wide.

Eddie had no regrets when instead of reaching for his dick, he swiped the controller and shut the game off.

Eddie lounged back on the couch, smug.

"Pick up your trash, trashmouth” he repeated but now in a sing-song voice, happy with himself. If his skin was tingling then that was inconsequential. 

Richie shook his head and laughed.

“If you say so, Spaghetti!”

"No, Richie, stop-!" Eddie squirmed away as Richie did a bad fake evil laugh and picked him up over his shoulder.

"Richie!" Eddie shouted as he was hoisted into the air. He couldn’t do anything about it, Richie had already thrown him over the shoulder and now he was upside down.

The sound of the door opening got Eddie's attention. It clicked in his head that it was one thing to be in this position, but to be seen in it by others? Devastatingly humiliating. 

" _Mua-ha-ha-ha!_ "

Bev walked through the door and Eddie sighed.

"Hey, guys," Bev said calmly as she took a seat on the couch and picked up Richie's remote, “What’s up?”

“Just taking out the trash,” Richie replied, spinning on the spot to show Eddie off. 

“I fucking hate you!” He yelled in between his laughs. 

“Incoming!”

Richie pretended to drop him and Eddie screamed. The two of them, gremlins, the both of them, started laughing at him. He tried to hold back his own laughter, too. Richie wasn’t shying away from him. He was the one to openly grab him. 

"Et tu, Bev?" he joked, “I’ve never felt so betrayed.”

He jostled Eddie around. “Who knew spaghetti had so much jelly?!” Richie barked out a laugh, a teasing lilt to his tone. His skin felt electrified where it touched the other boy's body and something dark settled in the pits of Eddie’s stomach, telling him that he should not be feeling like this with his best friend.

Stupid fucking hormones. Stupid fucking Richie, touching him and getting him worked up, with his stupid hair and painful sense of fashion, and his stupid fucking jokes that made him laugh.

“Richie,” Beverly said in warning. In sympathy, Eddie realised. He was grateful. All traces of humour had left his body, now replaced with a sense of impending doom.

He’d never felt like this about someone else before—definitely not a woman. Was he _gay_? Kissing a woman never felt like it would be disgusting, but now that he had Richie? Not that he _had_ Richie, but now that Richie was in his life he’d started noticing a lot of things he hadn’t before. Like how good it felt to hug, and cuddle, and joke around with someone. And how pretty someone could look while they pulled everything out of their fridge just to prove that they could still fit in it as a grown man. 

Like when the light in the door caught their jawline and reflected in their glasses just right, when he could see their squinted eyes and laugh lines through the lenses as they were so completely, utterly absorbed by their own supposed-brilliance that they didn’t realise that he’d been staring at them for the last minute trying to memorise the colour of their eyes.

He let his legs go limp and he rolled himself over Richie's shoulder, hoping that his muscles wouldn't bruise as much if he loosened them—he'd read that somewhere—and he went hurtling towards the ground and let out an, "oof,” upon impact. Richie stepped over his body, thankfully not commenting on his kamikaze-style exit.

His back didn’t hurt that much, he hadn’t even fallen very far. He panted from the ground and looked at Richie’s retreating form.

"Pick up your fucking trash!" Eddie called out as Richie slipped out of the room quickly. Weird. His door closed behind him and the empty packet was still laying haphazardly on the ground.

He took in the living room from his position on the ground. It was fucking disgusting. There were objects Richie had gotten from who knew where dumped in the living room to collect dust, the floor was filthy, the windows had grime on them, and there were cups sitting in the sink. No matter how much Eddie cleaned, Richie found ways to make it messy again the next time he was over.

"What do I do, Beverly? I'm going out of my mind,” he groaned out, pulling himself onto the couch beside her.

Eddie sighed. He felt compelled to take a shower after even sitting on the floor. The only thing he missed about his mother’s apartment was that it was at least clean. The only thing he liked about his home was that it passed basic sanitary standards.

"About how he's a slob? Or something else..." she trailed off, giving him a wicked grin.

"Of fucking course about the fact that he's a slob!"

"You sure?" She grabbed his face playfully so his cheeks pressed his lips out and he laughed, pushing her away. She went back to focusing on the screen and looked at him from the corner of her eye, probably trying to be covert.

He ignored the insinuation and started to watch her play. Maybe he should buy himself a controller so he could play when he came over. Or was that inviting himself into their lives? 

After the round had ended she talked again, “I feel bad that you can’t play. I’ve been meaning to ask Bill to get us another controller since he broke the last one. Do you want me to ask him to get two?”

“What?” Had he said it aloud and awkwardly put her on the spot? Had he somehow hinted that he was annoyed by having to wait his turn? His mother had always told him to mind his manners.

“Y’know,” Bev repeated, “So you can play with us too.”

Eddie felt a surge of happiness, “You’d do that?”

She smiled and nudged him, a little too roughly, if he was honest, but it was familiar and distinctly Bev and that made him smile back too.

“Of course, Eddie.”

“You’re a good guy, Bev,” Eddie replied. He held a hand out to dap and it didn’t feel strange at all for Bev to smile wider, clasp his hand, and go back to playing her game like any other dude.

Beverly was gorgeous, sure, but she was one of the losers. He’d never thought about her like he’d thought about Richie.

Wasn’t Richie just one of the losers too, though?

Eddie shook his head minutely at his own thoughts. No, Richie wasn’t just anything.

  
  


* * *

**Richie**

“Bill had fancy music school for a few years,” Bev said, “he can write up our hard-copies-”

“Hard-copies for what?”

“It was _boarding_ school,” Bill interjected. “-and it was because I’d been a nuisance about wanting to visit Georgie the year before.”

“I had tutors for music too,” Eddie added, “for almost 14 years now. Since I was a kid.”

“Funny, that’s almost as long as I’ve been having an affair with your mom, d’you think she got you a tutor to distract you from us?” 

“Beep beep, Trashmouth,” he sighed, and Richie vibrated with excited energy. He’d said beep beep, trashmouth, he’d learnt their _language_. He was officially one of them. Maybe that meant he wouldn’t leave, because he still hadn’t mentioned how long he’d be in town. It had been weeks, so they’d hoped he’d stay for a while at least.

Richie and Bev had a bit saved up, and he had some part-time work. They could go a while without doing another tour. He would stay in town for as long as Eddie was there, or die trying.

“That’s disgusting, you were a kid— why— “ Eddie grunted and gave up, giving Richie a glare but shutting his mouth. 

“Gentlemen, please— This is our first official band practice. Try to keep the homo-cidal tendencies to a bare minimum,” Bill projected over their bickering voices.

“Since when did we start a band?” Mike asked, not unimpressed.

“Oh, yeah. I forgot you weren’t there,” Bill snapped his fingers.

“In fairness, you thought he was, you kept turning around to talk to Mike but no one was there. It was frankly a little disturbing,” Stan interrupted him.

Richie laughed, “I would’ve paid to see that.”

Stan raised an eyebrow at him, “Don’t worry, next time you will. I’m sick of you coming over smoking up all my weed.”

“Oh, c’mon, Stanley, don’t be such a wet blanket. What about that time I scored us those edibles back in Chicago? That was the good shit, and I didn’t ask for anything!” He put on his British guy Voice, “Naught even a penny, I tell you!”

Bill clapped his hands. The squabbling died out and they looked at him, annoyed.

He had a hand poised on his guitar and started strumming a short tune.

Richie shook his egg from the floor, singing and pointing at Bill with his free hand, “You’re my slick daddy, but you don’t want it.”

Ben looked at Bev in confusion, but she just shrugged and grinned, joining in with her guitar.

He gave up and joined as well, “You want it, but you don’t want it, but 'cha, but 'cha want it—”

“Slick daddy—” Stan harmonised.

They went on for a while and even Eddie was bopping along with them, writing out key melodies as fast as he could into the music book Bill had left on the table.

A few minutes later they were laughing together, one song lighter and a lot closer. Making music with someone was one of the most intimate things you could do with someone without taking off your clothes, Richie decided. He was glad that these people had stumbled into his life as of recent.

By the end of the evening they were growing grumpy and tired, splitting ways and some of them organising getting food.

It was when Eddie said he should be heading home that Richie stood up to leave. He said, “I’ll walk you home, m’lady. Truly, I'm a gentleman at heart.”

“I don’t think it’s your heart that you’re thinking with,” Stan commented idly, finishing up his crossword puzzle beside him.

The others all snickered at him but Richie ignored them, looking at Eddie’s reaction, hoping it wasn’t disgust. Praying inside that he wasn't one sexual insinuation too many for Eddie to chew him out in front of everyone and tell him just how disgusting he was, how he wasn’t interested in him. Not even his own parents cared enough to know him. The only people who knew him, really knew him, were the losers he called friends. All of those negative thoughts he tried to keep at bay danced on edge of his mind.

“Laugh it up, assholes. Haha, Richie is gay, hilarious-” Eddie retorted sardonically, “ _hysterical!_ ” 

Eddie snatched Stanley’s pen out his hand and threw it across the room, not even looking him in the eye as he stood up. He patted down his pockets and presented himself with wide-innocent eyes and a grin. As if he wasn’t the funniest fucking little shit in the whole world.

“Hop to it, cheerio, my good fellows,” Richie addressed his friends. Beverly got up to hug him goodbye and he loved the way he had to bend down to allow for her height difference, it made him feel like he was protecting her, curling around her and shielding her away. It made him feel a little less guilty about how, in reality, it was the other way around. That she was the one always taking care of him.

Even now, she took care of him, hugging him any chance she got. A piece of love hid in that habit she had developed, and every time they touched that sliver of love bounced around on his skin where they came into contact.

Stan sighed and went to get his pen. He ruffled Richie’s hair as he walked past, and he leaned into the touch instinctively.

“See you when I get home.”

“At least we’re on the same page about your ability to get laid,” Stan commented, giving him a smirk.

“Hey, shithead! Richie could get laid if he wanted to!”

Richie bit his lip, forcing his mouth closed and Stanley, the bestest friend a guy could ask for, winked at him over his shoulder.

“After you—”

“If you call me m’lady again, asshole, I swear I’ll—”

“You’ll what?” Richie replied, opening the door for Eddie and holding it open so he could pass through first. 

Eddie’s mouth fluttered open and closed a few times as he paused before the doorway. He looked at Richie for a second, then shook his head and continued.

“I’ll fucking shave half of your hair off while you sleep, and then I’ll hide the shaver so you can’t do the other side and you’ll be left with half and half for the next year.”

“Presumptuous, aren’t we?” Richie teased in his posh british lady voice, “First you presume your presence in my room at night where you’ll have access to my,” he flicked his curls for emphasis, “gorgeous locks, and then you act on the assumption you’ll be around for a whole year to watch me suffer?”

“I— “ Eddie huffed, “Fuck you, dude, I meant, like, hypothetically. I didn’t mean— and I wouldn’t— You’re such a Trashmouth, I swear,” he settled on.

“Methinks the lady doth protest too much,” Richie continued, ecstatic and bursting. He loved this. He loved it so much. The back and forth, the safety in knowing they were joking. The freedom in it was like a cheap thrill down his spine, like a joke landing well, but more dangerous, and more exciting.

He could joke about it here. He was allowed to joke about wanting Eddie like this.

Friends joke around like that all the time. It was safe.

“When I first met you my first thought was ‘Why, look at this sterling young man, his wardrobe may be ridiculous but by golly gosh is his face cute.’” He reached out to pinch a cheek, “Cute, cute, cute!”

Eddie fought off his hand and swatted him, a strange expression on his face, “Funny, that’s what I thought about you too.”

“Oh yeah?” Richie replied noncommittally.

“Yeah, I was disgusted, you were wearing a cropped hawaiian shirt with mis-matched crocs,” Eddie continued, and Richie collapsed in laughter because he could tell he genuinely meant it, “-you were hot though.”

Richie sobered up quickly. He stood still. Eddie stopped a second later and looked back at him in confusion.

“Wait, really?” A quiet hesistance crept into his voice, an uncertain wobble. He hated how it made him sound. He was being too obvious.

Eddie made a face at him, like he was puzzled by Richie’s surprise. He nodded at him, and they was close, closer than Richie meant to be, closer than he should’ve allowed himself. His brain didn’t want to work, he didn’t want to move away.

He wanted to kiss Eddie so much. Enough to risk it all. 

If he leant in to kiss Eddie, what would he do if Eddie pulled away and said ‘just joking!’? Probably laugh through the pain and pretend it never happened. He reassured himself that he'd done it before and could do it again. He wasn't going to curl up in a hole and avoid Eddie forever just because he didn't have feelings for him.

But the temptation of the possibility that Eddie wouldn’t pull away… 

He’d been so scared for so long, but maybe Stanley was right. Maybe letting Eddie see him, all of him, wouldn’t be so bad. He wanted Eddie to know just how much he wanted him, wanted to touch him, to talk to him, to make him smile, all the fucking time and he fought off the impulse to stomp out the hope in his chest. There was hope in him of a better future. Maybe he wouldn’t always burn with the shame of his own desire.

“-You were holding this speaker, remember? Those things are fucking heavy as shit, dude, and you were just standing there making conversation. Your arms looked really good, like that,” he said, glancing down at his shoulders. Richie took a mental step back. His arms?

“You thought I was hot?” He sounded like a broken record but he needed it to be clarified. His brain felt like Windows Explorer trying to open a tab.

Eddie snorted, “You _are_ hot, Rich.”

Eddie reached out to touch the side of his face and Richie let out a breath he hadn't known he was holding. Out of panic he ducked out of the way before Eddie could lean up and kiss him. He nestled his head into Eddie’s shoulder, head-butting him lovingly, like a puppy trying to show love and get attention at the same time. 

Eddie laughed in surprise and Richie felt the reverb through his chest. “Even your flat ass.”

Richie fake-gasped and pulled away, aghast, “Sorry, Mr. gluteus maximus, but we can't all be fifty percent rage and fifty percent 'dat ass.”

Eddie’s mouth twitched like he wanted to smile and Richie took that as a win.

His heart hammered away in his ears, and his cheeks hurt a little at how hard he was smiling, but when Eddie reached out for his hand, he took it, and he laced their fingers together he felt weirdly in control of himself. He held onto his fingers hard.

They were silent for a few minutes as they continued walking, quietly taking in their surroundings and the feelings brewing inside them.

They got to the bus stop that would take him to the outer city, the suburbs, where he lived with his mother. Richie still thought that was weird, but hey, Eddie was very weird. And, in a different way but equally so, so was his mother.

“I’ll see you tomorrow?” Eddie asked hopefully, untangling their fingers. Richie’s hand ached with the absence, hand following Eddie’s as he pulled him away. He clenched his fist where Eddie's hand had been.

“I dunno’ I’ll have to check my schedule. Mrs. K has me working hard giving it to her good lately— “ Eddie punched him lightly in the arm, “-Ouch! Domestic abuse!”

Eddie rolled his eyes, but his face was happy and a smile was pulling at his mouth and— Richie wanted to kiss his smile. The hope burned inside of him, stronger than the shame and self-hatred.

He leant down a fraction, giving Eddie the chance to move away if he changed his mind about it, about them, but Eddie didn’t move. He stood there, staring him in the eyes. His eyes were so deep and soulful, he’d never felt safer than right then at that moment, looking into them, like he knew that they weren’t going to hurt him.

Eddie wouldn’t hurt him. He wanted to believe it so much, he felt like he could will it into existence.

Eddie closed the gap between them, putting a hand on his jaw, brushing against the stubble there and caressing the dip in his cheek. Richie melted into the hand holding him, into Eddie, kissing him like his life depended on it.

What felt like only a second later, Eddie mumbled something and pulled away, “Rich?”

He opened his eyes and saw Eddie smiling back at him. 

“What’s up, Eds?”

“Don’t call me that. My bus is here,” he pointed to where a bus was pulling up to the curb.

“Goodnight, my Spaghetti man,” he said, only half-joking but keeping his tone light, “Don't let the bed bugs bite! Unless you want them to, then remember the safeword!” Richie called at his retreating back.

“You disgust me!” Eddie called, laughing.


	4. The End of the Beginning of Shark Puppy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He ran, like he’d never ran before in his life. His feet hit the asphalt and sent surges up his legs, he could feel the power in his legs, that’s what that was. 
> 
> The energy he was exerting, just rushing back up into him, and he was going to hold himself back from feeling like that again. He deserved to feel free and strong, and to have a goal. And right then his goal was to get to Richie, and the losers, to tell them that he had gotten out of that hell hole. 
> 
> He just followed the beat of his feet hitting the ground, like his legs were their own drumsticks. Like he was his own drum set, moving to his own rhythm.

**Ben**

“So, how long have you guys known each other?”

“Since we were seven," Bill answered.

“I was seven, you were six," Mike corrected him.

“Oh yeah. Remember our 10 themed party?”

Ben's brow furrowed, “What’s a 10 theme? Were you turning 10?”

“No,” Mike wheezed, “He was turning 7, but he wanted to throw himself a party for his tenth birthday on his seventh, so we pretended we were what we imagined 10 years acted like and were interested in."

“Hey isn’t that where I saw H2o for the first time?”

Ben’s brain couldn’t keep up with their rapport. He asked, dazedly, “Water?”

“The show! That’s where his mermaid obsession started! I remember now!”

“And then we went to go see Cats the musical when we were 14, and we had snuck in because of my backstage lanyard collection?” Bill giggled. 

Then he turned to Ben and explained, “My entire childhood, my dad used to put a lanyard ‘round my neck and dump me at whatever venue he’d booked that weekend. I kept them all and wrote the security protocols down in my old music books in case I ever wanted to go back and fuck it up.”

Mike rolled his eyes, “And now look at you, hotshot. Asleep before 11 on a weekend because your back is sore from wearing the mermaid tail around even though _you know_ it’s too heavy for you.”

Ben watched the interaction with rapt interest. They knew the other inside and out, it was like they knew what the other was supposed to say and only managed to keep in their laughter until they’d said it out loud, for everyone else’s sake, so they could actually hear it.

“When did y’all start dating?” He asked, and the look of horror dropped over Mike’s face so fast that Ben’s gut wrenched. Mike stared at Ben, eyes wide and frozen stiff. 

Ben rattled on, “I mean, y’all just— I thought— I’m sorry.”

“No, it’s okay, we— Uh. We’re not dating. It’s funny, actually, pretty much everyone thinks we are at first. I get shit from my little brother Georgie everytime we call…” Bill had a silly, self-satisfied grin on his face and his hand was resting on his knee, knuckles brushing against Mike’s.

Ben cleared his throat.

“So, how's your mother doing?” Mike prompted.

Ben jumped on the chance to change the subject, “Oh! She’s doing great, she tells me how proud of me she is almost every other sentence on the phone. If I can get steady gigs, I might be able to afford to fly her out for Thanksgiving.”

“That’s really sweet,” Mike smiled at him, “Has it always been your dream to be a singer?”

“No- actually, this is kind of embarrassing… I wanted to be a poet, growing up. Music was always just an art for me to share my poetry, but then I guess changed my mind at some point,” Ben shrugged, smiling wistfully.

“What about you, Bill? What’re your dreams?”

Bill’s hand slipped on the downward stroke.

“Huh? I guess, uh.. No one’s asked me that before.”

Mike looked rapt with interest at him. He’d never had the courage to push Bill like that, no one had. Everyone just expected him to float through life, always doing whatever he wanted. The expectations. Mike felt a little guilty about that. He didn’t mean to expect things from Bill, or rather the opposite—to _not_ expect things. Maybe that was what Bill always needed: somebody to push and nag him, somebody to _care._ He felt that too. 

“When was the last time anyone other than these losers asked you how you felt at all?”

“Felt that, man” Bill agreed and high-fived him.

“Y’all don’t have, like, parents?”

“Parents who give a shit?” Mike snorted, “no. Do you?” He was genuinely asking. He wanted to know, secretly; he wanted Ben to share every ounce of affection he’d gotten.

“I mean, my momma. She does her best. She’s back in Nebraska. I miss her real bad sometimes. She was the best, always helping me with my music and just, everything, really. She- uh, she’s the one who got me my first guitar for my birthday, when I was 11.”

Bill’s expression was a little sour, “The only reason I learned how to play the guitar was because there was nothing else to do in those boring ass studios while my dad was working on whatever. I got actual lessons when I was like 14. I had to _beg_ to get them,” he exaggerated in voice not dissimilar to Georgie’s whiny tone.

Mike started laughing. 

“What’s so funny?”

“They thought he was a prodigy when he started getting lessons,” he got out between his snickers.

Bill laughed as well, but Ben could feel the tension in the air. There was a sadness to it. 

“Hey! Look where it got me! Music is my life, now. Indie rock and roll all the way,” he made a sign of the horns hand gesture, “It’s all I have and all I need. It got me all of you, didn’t it?” he asked absentmindedly, tuning a bass lying nearby. He got up and strummed and Mike started to tap out a beat against the arm of the sofa with his drumsticks.

Ben felt like he was intruding on a familiar moment for them. 

Their rhythm was fluid together, watching each other without talking— and for Ben, who had always confided in literature and escaped into words, that moment was too much for words. It simply was. They simply _were._

No one talked about how Bill felt like the only thing he had was borne from resentment, boredom and neglect. That was a sad way to be brought into the world. 

Ben loved music, he loved his mother, and his fondest memories were them messing around and making up silly tunes in the living room when the cable bill was missed for that month, or her helping him channel his loneliness into his music. That feeling of even if he didn’t have friends, he had her.

It was painful to think about, to imagine growing up like that. So he didn’t bring it up either. He tentatively joined in with a harmony to Mike’s hummed melody and, he didn’t know why, but his throat closed up a little with the force of his emotions. Something more powerful came from the trust shown in their silence. He’d never known this sort of moment could exist before; to be there for someone and not need to fix their problems for them, but just to be with them. They were there, together in a room, making music.

And it was enough. And when he joined in with them, Bill gave him a grin, not a glare, for intruding on their familiar routine.

What made him worthy of their friendship? It all started with Ben calling Bill’s dad an asshole (sober now, Ben flushed in embarrassment at the memory). Why did they welcome him into their tight knit, pre-existing friendship like they were already friends by the time they met each other?

Ben didn’t have any answers and explanations. All he had was a smile on his face and a melody in the air.

  
  


* * *

**Ben**

“Hey, momma, I got this email here… It’s from Trax Record Magazine, they want me to join their team… Something about being a fulltime article writer, and you know how I always loved writing for the school paper back home.”

His mother exclaimed in happiness over the line and he smiled into the phone.

“I know, I know… And it wouldn’t mean I’d have to quit music in my spare time. I don’t know, it’s in San Diego. And my friends are all here.” He didn’t want to be alone. He didn’t want to leave the only family he’d ever known. 

If he left, would he ever find anyone again? People who loved him?

Sometimes he felt like his friends were just humouring him, keeping him around. He didn’t feel like he fit in among them. They were all so talented, and he was just— he didn’t like L.A, it was so empty yet so crowded. Too loud and hot.

He felt more alone there than he did back at home sometimes. But then he would wake up to find messages on their group chat and he felt a little more at home. When he was with them, he was home. They brought out something in him, something he really liked. It was like he had the courage to be himself.

He leant against the wall and repositioned the phone against his ear, “Yes, Bev is here. Maybe not for long though, she works on the road a lot— Uhuh, I know,” he conceded, “I don’t know.” 

A head of bright red hair caught his eye walking past in the hall. “Bev?”

Bill stuck his head into the doorway, “Ben? What’re you doing back here? Beverly isn’t working today.”

“I’m booked tonight. Do you know where she is? I lost my phone and don’t know her number.”

Bill laughed, “Oh, right. So that’s why she’s spamming me about why you haven’t texted her yet today.” Ben flushed. Beverly missed him?

He’d missed her while his phone was lost, too. The last time he’d had it was at her and Richie’s apartment. Maybe it was there?

He wanted to text Beverly back as soon as possible so she wouldn’t be worried that he was ignoring her. He knew she got sensitive about that sometimes. 

Living in Richie’s back pocket for the last almost half a decade had gotten her used to having attention 24/7, Ben thought. He had nothing against Richie, but secretly he wished he could be the one giving her that attention.

He didn’t let himself think along those lines for too long, though. That wasn’t kind to Richie or to Bev, who was able to choose who she spent her time with.

Maybe she felt the same way, though, if she was texting Bill about him. Maybe.

With hope blossoming in his chest he replied, “Can I borrow your phone to call her? I have some big news.”

Bill tossed him his phone carelessly, “Knock yourself out, man. Five-zero-five-three,” he smiled and rocked back on his heels in excitement, “So? What’s the news?” He said after Ben remained silent and put in Bill’s passcode.

Ben carefully didn’t touch anything on the screen apart from the contacts list. He didn’t want to say it aloud, but Bill had a lot of disturbing pictures on Instagram of extreme cosplays which Ben didn’t want to see more of.

“I— It’s kind of— I don’t know? I got this job offer for a music magazine.”

“That’s great news, man!” Bill clapped on the shoulder, which was strangely heterosexual of Bill. He knew he was straight, but, c’mon Bill. Do better.

“I know! I’m super stoked. It’s in San Diego, though…”

Bill’s face dropped and Ben bit his lip, already feeling sad about the prospect of moving. Of leaving his friends.

“I know, but things are getting really tight, and this is the last gig my agent could get to try and save my dwindling career. I don’t know if it’s even worth it anymore. I don’t know how much longer I can go with being lonely in L.A. I have no one here, not even my momma.”

Bill pulled him into a hug, “You always have us, Ben. The losers, we stick together, okay? It’s for life.”

Ben collapsed into Bill’s open arms, feeling oddly small in the small man’s embrace.

“I love you, too,” Ben replied, teary-eyed, “I wish we could just, y’know, never stop what we’re doing now. The band. But like seriously. Wouldn’t that be cool?”

Bill pulled away, a grin taking over his face. “We should totally do that!”

“What, Bill? I was joking, man,” Ben replied in a rush. 

“I’m serious, too! We should— C’mon, let’s get Mike!” Bill ran out the door, not waiting for Ben to follow, but he followed anyway. He would follow Bill anywhere. Was he seriously saying they should start a band? The logistics ran through his head, thinking of all the stipulations.

They’d have to get everyone to agree, first of all.

In the end Ben didn’t get to call Bev. Instead, Bill rang her, told her one thing, then hung up again.

“Beverly, get yourself and Richie down here to Mike’s. We have a really great idea.”

* * *

“Mike, have you texted Eddie? Y’know his mom will answer the phone if you call it, so text him in the groupchat. Where’s Stan?”

Slowly but surely, the self-proclaimed ‘Losers’ slowly trickled into the green room.

“I have gathered us here today to propose an idea. Please do not speak until I’m done,” Bill began, standing on the coffee table, still shorter than Mike beside him, acting like he was the messiah. A musical messiah, maybe.

Wasn’t he though? Ben asked himself. A little bit. A musical messiah who dressed up as a mermaid and wore toe shoes in his spare time. And got into tabloids for parasailing off of his dad’s studio in said outfit.

“Ben got a job in San Diego, and my dad wants me to head out for a worldwide tour with him next month,” he said the second part bitterly, “Mike can’t wait to leave this shitty city, Beverly—you and Richie are on the move so often it shouldn’t even matter, but anyway—We, me and Ben,” he gave Ben a pointed look, “-think we should start our own band, but seriously this time. Do this properly.”

“Is that the end?” Stan asked with obvious humour in his tone, “We’ve had this conversation before.”

“Fuck you, Stanley!” Richie got up and sat on Stan, who let out a sharp yelp and they pinched him harshly on the arm. Ben didn’t understand these people, but on his own good name, did he love them fiercely.

He smiled. 

“I vote yes!” cried Beverly. 

“Of course you do,” Stan complained from under Richie.

“You’re all leaving?” Eddie asked in a small voice from behind one of the sofas.

“I’m not leaving—how many times do I have to say this—” Stan exclaimed then he pushed Richie off him with indignation. 

“Whaddya say, Eds? Just me, you, and the big open road?” Richie jumped up and knelt on the sofa, leaning over the back of it to talk to Eddie. His breathing was erratic, Ben noticed. His eyes were blown as well and he was grasping at his pockets frantically.

“Eddie, are you okay?” he asked worriedly. He crossed the room to him and the others’ attention turned to them. Stan turned around and sighed, “Take a deep breath, Eddie, okay? It’s okay, breathe with me,” he took a large breath in, and then let it out again.

“Eddie…” Richie breathed out, staring at him, frozen. 

“Give him some space, Rich,” Ben suggested, trying to keep his tone kind despite the concern racing through him.

“It’s okay, Eddie, we’re not going anywhere without you, okay? You’re one of us now and we don’t abandon family,” he nudged Beverly, sidling up closer to her, giving Eddie more space too. “Not anymore, anyway,” he added, and she laughed.

And whatever it was about that seemed to calm Eddie down. He took deeper breaths. He still shook like a leaf, gripping Stan’s hand like a lifeline, but he was breathing at least.

“I’m okay. I just— I thought you were all going to leave me here, with her—” nobody asked who he meant.

“Well, that’s the point, innit, Eds-o Spagheds-o?” Richie pointed out in the British guy Voice.

“-to not have to leave eachother again,” Beverly added hopefully. A grin took up her entire face and Ben was suddenly disarmed by the brilliance of her open, radiant happiness.

“To not have to leave each other again…” Mike said quietly, “Bill, if this is some joke, I’m going to seriously, like, hurt you, man.”

Bill’s brow furrowed, “I’m serious, Mike.” He laid a hand on his shoulder. 

“So? Are we saying yes to the dress? I, for one, think I speak for all of us—” Richie gave Stan a pointed look, “—when I say that the fit of the bodice is incredibly flattering on my figure.” He smoothed down his flat chest and pretended to grab invisible cleavage.

Mike snorted and Beverly dissolved into giggles.

“You’re ridiculous, Tozier,” Stanley taunted.

“And yet?” Richie replied, cupping his ear and leaning obnoxiously close to Stan. 

Bev and Stan, they really were special to Richie, Ben could tell. Different to how he trailed after Eddie like a lovesick puppy, and different to how he listened to Bill’s every word. They were the only ones he was unreserved in touching. For someone who stuck like glue once he got his hands on you, like he craved the physical contact, he was weirdly specific about when he did it with everyone else.

Like he was hesitant, or afraid, to touch them. 

Ben’s chest ached with an overwhelming sadness as he looked at Richie’s hand, twitching out to Eddie’s before he pulled it back down to his side, clenching it into a fist instead. There was no hint of the turmoil on his face. Without seeing how he restrained himself at the last minute, he would’ve never known.

“Fine,” Stan sighed, “Only if Patty says yes.”

Richie whooped and Bev joined in, high fiving him.

They missed.

They tried again and landed it that time.

“You’re both fucking dorks!” Eddie called loudly.

“Eds?”

“Don’t call me that.” Eddie crosssed his arm and scowled at him in return. 

Richie bit his lip and tapped his foot restlessly, his expression was oddly earnest and hopeful when he asked, “Are you coming?”

Eddie nodded slowly.

“Really?” asked Richie. He started bouncing in his seat and rocking slightly in exitement.

“We’re really doing this then, fellas?”

“Hell yeah,” Mike replied, “All thanks to you, Ben.”

Ben shook his head, still grinning, “Nah,” his eyes widened when Richie caught his eye from across the room. 

Richie’s eyes lit up, “Country boy, I loovee youuuu,” he said, sticking his tongue out and wiggling it around, making an indiscernible sound as he did so.

“Who quotes vines? It’s 2020, asshole,” Eddie snapped. He powered on before Richie could reply, “I’m gonna go home before Ma wonders where I am.” He turned on his heel and stalked away.

Ben nodded in understanding. “Seeya, Eds,” he looked around at the remaining losers, “the rest of us will stick around to organise some stuff, right?”

* * *

**Eddie**

“I want to go with Birds of Prey when they go on tour next month,” Eddie said, resenting the quiver in his voice and tightening his fists at his side to compensate for his weakness. Because he wasn’t weak. 

He was strong, and he felt strong when he was playing with the others, when he was with Stanley, and Richie, and the rest of the losers. 

Technically he was going with the “Losers” but his mother didn’t know about that. Improvise, adapt, overcome.

He changed his words with a new resolution, “I’m going with them on the 17th whether you want me to or not. I’ve already signed a contract.”

She gaped at him, her mouth blubbering open and closed like a fish before her face dropped and crinkled up and she cried, “You can’t leave me, Eddie. You’ll get sick, on tour. I won’t be able to get around to the shops without you, how do you expect me to live? I’ll be all alone, do you want me to die here, all alone, is that it?” She flung her arms out but he stepped back, away from her.

He couldn’t let her get a hold of him. She’d cling onto him, pull him close, and all he would be able to smell would be her stale, floral perfume and it would take him back to his childhood, and how weak he felt back then.

No. He wasn’t like that anymore. 

“You could die, Eddie-bear!” The exaggerated crying, the blubbering that always made Eddie feel just bad enough that he relented, and apologised.

Not this time.

It’s not real, he said internally. She wasn’t looking out for him, she was trying to restrain him. Stopping him from actually being free.

“Ma, we’re all gonna die, eventually,” Eddie said tiredly, exhausted.

“What kind of nonsense is this, Eddie, you’re spending too much time with those crazy hobos by Hanlon’s Place. You know how impressionable you are, Eddie, you can’t go down there anymore, they’ll corrupt your mind,” Sonia scolded loudly, desperately.

“I’m not impressionable. I’m a full-grown man, Ma.” 

“You’re just my little Eddie— you think you’re all grown now, but you don’t know anything about the real world!”

“Only because you never let me! Or you made me feel so bad about it that I could never bring myself to! But guess what, Ma, I like the real world. I like how it makes me feel about myself. I like being able to kiss, and cry, and laugh, at anything I want! Because I’m alive, and I love it so much.”

“But I love _you_ , Eddie— I just love you so much. I’m doing what’s best for you!”

“You’re crazy!” he yelled in disbelief that she could think this was what love looked like. “I know _love_ , despite you trying to keep me away from it, away from the truth, my entire life! This isn’t love, and if you loved me more than you loved using me, you would see that.”

His words carried an air of finality.. She didn’t even have a response to it. He hadn’t shouted at her like this since—since he broke his arm, when he’d realised that the pills she’d been feeding him were placebos.

He should’ve realised that she was manipulating him earlier. Burning hot humiliation coursed through him and scalded his face, his cheeks burning. He continued, “I’d rather have _my friends_ as my only family, than _you_ . I’d rather only have _my friends_ than anything else you could offer me. Because, guess what, I’m not playing your stupid games anymore!”

“What game, Eddie-Bear?!” Sonia yelled after him, through the door as it slammed. He didn’t turn around when he heard the door opening again, he didn’t even glance back as she called his name.

He ran, like he’d never ran before in his life. His feet hit the asphalt and sent surges up his legs, he could feel the power in his legs, that’s what that was. 

The energy he was exerting, just rushing back up into him, and he was going to hold himself back from feeling like that again. He deserved to feel free and strong, and to have a goal. And right then his goal was to get to Richie, and the losers, to tell them that he had gotten out of that hell hole. 

He just followed the beat of his feet hitting the ground, like his legs were their own drumsticks. Like he was his own drum set, moving to his own rhythm.

He ran the entire way into the city, to Richie’s apartment. He buzzed and heard a sleepy, “Hullo?” through the machine on the wall of the apartment complex. 

“It’s Eddie, I-” before he’d even said anything the door buzzed and he launched for it, familiar with how fast it locked again after it opened. “Anti-theft, my ass,” Eddie cursed under his breath.

He raced up the three flights of stairs, too. He didn’t walk just because he’d read some statistics about the amount of accidents happening on stairs, he _ran_ , because he could and because it felt good. And he didn’t feel guilty about it, not at all, for once.

He knocked on the door, panting and grinning. An expression he would be embarrassed to wear around anyone else, but he knew he was safe to be happy here. He could be himself. 

Richie answered the door in sweatpants and no t-shirt. Eddie’s mouth fell open and went a little dry, the grin freezing on his face. 

“I have an idea for a song!”

“Okay…” Richie drawled, “And you ran over here—Wait, Eddie, did you run all the way here?!” 

“Yeah, it felt great! I feel great! I finally stood up to her, Richie! I told her that I wasn’t going to listen to her anymore!”

Richie’s slow-growing smile dropped a little, “Where’s your stuff?”

“What do you mean?”

Richie’s face scrunched in concern, “You mean, you didn’t take anything with you when you left? Is she even going to let you leave if you go back to get it? Eddie— “ Richie rubbed his jaw and Eddie was momentarily transfixed by the stubble there, it grew under his chin too and his adam’s apple bobbed when he swallowed and—- 

“What?”

“It’s fine, don’t worry about it, Eds, we can sort something out…” Richie tried to sound hopeful and it sunk in for Eddie.

He pulled his eyes off of Richie and keeled over, groaning into his hands, “Oh fuck, I totally forgot. This is the first time I’ve ever run away before, Richie.”

“It’s okay, babe— I mean, Eddie,” He pulled him into a hug and Eddie grasped onto him, touching the warm skin on his back, digging his fingers in a little. He was just so relieved. And happy. 

And now he had to face the consequences of his actions.

A thought popped into his head, “Hold on—” he jerked out of Richie’s arms and for second, he could’ve sworn Richie looked hurt. But he brushed past it, “-I have my credit cards still, we could drain my accounts, she mightn’t have changed the pins yet. Richie! Let’s go!” 

Richie’s grin was back, “Have I ever told you that you’re a genius, Señor Spaghetti?” 

* * *

**Eddie**

Eddie was curled up on the end of Richie and Bev’s bed. They were leaving the next night. This was probably going to be the last night that he slept on a real bed, all to himself. He’d offered to take the couch but Richie had insisted that their roommate wouldn’t appreciate coming home from his night shift as a DJ to find some random guy asleep on his couch.

Richie’s bed smelled like him, his pillow was soft and reminded him of when he would hug him, up on his tip-toes, and tuck his face into the crook of his neck. 

It was just hitting him that they were going to leave. Together.

He’d only known them for a few months. What if they ended up hating each other and they dumped him on the side of the road? He’d never lived alone, or with anyone other than his mother. Without them, he had no one else. But even if he’d stayed, he realised, he still had no one else but them. That comforted his worries slightly.

“I can hear your spaghetti cogs turning in that big spaghetti brain o’ yours from o’er yonder, Eds. What’s up?” Richie strolled into the room holding a packet of... what was that?

“Yoghurt covered rice cakes?”

“Only the finest for you, madame,” he teased, tossing them onto his stomach where he lay. Eddie picked up the packet and took one out, sniffing it curiously.

Rice cakes and yoghurt sounded relatively healthy, at least.

“Woah, Betsy! Bill just sent me this, have a look!”

“What—?” Eddie got up and grabbed the phone out of his hand.

On the screen it said:

_‘Bill Denbrough accused of being complacent in the disappearance of L.A resident Eddie Kaspbrak, subscribe below to read what his mother has to say!’_

Richie scoffed, “Bill has to deal with this all the time, Spagheds, don’t worry. It never goes anywhere. Everyone cares more about the story than the reality.”

“Wow, thanks, asshole. So no one’s going to miss me, is that what you’re saying?” Eddie huffed at Richie’s pleased face, “Fuck you, man.”

Richie laughed and Eddie fought off a smile at the blinding, unreserved happiness on Richie’s face.

“Maybe the scandal of my ‘disappearance’ will give us some momentum as ‘Shark Puppy,’” Eddie pondered aloud.

“Hey, you know what we should do? Write a song.”

“We don’t have our instruments, genius. They’re all in the back of Bill’s van.” They’d sorted through most of their things that afternoon and loaded their instruments and the majority of their clothes. Eddie was exhausted after it. 

“Hol’up, not so fast there, Johnny-boy,” Richie said,

Eddie groaned and Richie tutted at him, barely audible over the sound of him rummaging through a pile of random stuff in the corner of the room. It really was a mess in there. He wished he could blame it on their packing but it was just as bad the week before. There was less stuff tossed around now, but there was still just as much of it.

“I thought you liked the cowboy voice?” Richie asked, sitting up again with something in his hand. He was pouting at Eddie. 

Eddie wanted to kiss him.

He flushed.

Richie’s face dropped from it’s pretend sadness and morphed into something more serious. They were just sitting there, staring at each other for a hot minute. 

Richie pulled away, breathing out quickly. 

Eddie blinked and his vision zeroed in on what Richie was holding. Was that a— “melodica?”

Richie nodded, “Hold it for a sec— I’m going to set up the camera.” Eddie didn’t have a chance to assess his vibes before he turned away from him and worry inched into his thoughts. Did Richie not want to kiss him? Was he just too nice to tell him?

“We’re recording this?” He asked instead of voicing his worries. His tone came out a little sharper than he intended and he winced.

“Of course, Eds, this is going to be a masterpiece! Our magnum opus! Just like— “

“If you say magnum dick, I swear to fucking—”

“Jeez, cool the jets, Edster, first of all,” Richie fiddled with the DSLR camera Bill had given to them to use for Shark Puppy videos, “I was going to say dong, not dick, there's a very clear distinction between the two—!”

“Literally how is there a distinction between dick and dong?! They mean the same fucking thing, asshole!”

“Now an asshole, is whole other ballpark, Spaghetti, but I mean, if you want to start bringing dongs and assholes together— I’m all ears,” Eddie spotted the tell-tale flush on his neck and his ears, even from his limited view as he fixed the set-up.

Eddie grinned, “Ears, eh, Tozier? Weird fetish, but okay,” he fired back. Richie was affected by him, he knew it. He just had to push a little more. Wasn’t it Richie himself who had pushed him to realising his own feelings?

To make him realise that he liked other men? And now, what, he was going to be chicken shit about it? Fuck that, Eddie knew, he knew, that Richie liked him.

“Oh-ho, kick me while I’m down, why don’t you? Pulling out last names, are we?”

“Didn’t you ever have sex-ed? Everyone knows pulling out isn’t an effective form of birth-control.” It was admittedly not the sexiest thing he’d ever said but Richie barked out a laugh, and finally— everything was in place. Richie came back to sit beside him. Eddie didn’t have the wherewithal to form another response, too taken with looking at Richie throwing his head back like a little kid.

Giggling. He was a grown ass man _giggling_. 

_Eddie_ had done that. 

“I’m frankly offended that you’d assume I’d ever need birth control, my good sir,” Richie said in the British guy voice. Eddie rolled his eyes but smiled. It was still as bad as the time he’d heard it. Not that he’d tell Richie that. 

“What are you, fuckin’ gay?” And Eddie wanted to cringe as soon as the words left his mouth, he hadn’t meant like _gay_ gay, he’d meant like— Oh, fuck.

Richie pulled away from him, all traces of laughter gone from his voice. As if Richie was a magnet turned the wrong way around, he edged further away from Eddie and when he finally turned to look at him, his eyes were a little wild, his voice strained, “I mean— yeah. Haha, Richie is gay, right?”

“Richie…” Eddie breathed out, he could almost feel the sadness weighing down on Richie, the same weight forcing his shoulders to slouch down, to make himself smaller. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m… gay, too,” he took a deep breath. He could do this, “I’m gay, too. I’m really fucking gay,” he said quickly, like he needed to get it out of his mouth before his body tried to stop him.

Richie’s smile crept onto his face, “That’s kinda fucking gay, Eds.” 

Eddie pinched Richie’s arm, “Fucking asshole.” Richie yelped indignantly so Eddie rubbed the place where he’d pinche, soothing it. Soothing him.

He leant over before he lost his nerve and kissed his shoulder in apology. “I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I didn’t mean to hurt you, properly, you know I’d never hurt you on purpose, right?” 

Richie's face melted and twisted into something so soft and sincere, Eddie was taken aback by the force of his own feelings.

“Of course, man… You know I feel the same right?” And it was just earnest enough that Eddie knew he didn’t mean in just a friendly way. His gaze lingered on his lips just long enough to know that he wanted it too.

He just couldn’t. Not yet. 

So Eddie squeezed his shoulder and nodded. He laughed it off and Richie joined in. They didn’t even know what they were laughing at but it erased any tension in the room.

Richie took one of the rice cakes and ate half of it with one bite. Eddie grimaced. “Ugh, you’re disgusting.”

“Funny— that’s what your mom told me last night,” Eddie yanked Richie’s arm— wow, it was so thick, he could barely get his hand around it— and took a bite out of the rice cake in retribution.

“Ah wee macking a sawn or nah?” He said from around the mouthful of— surprisingly— delicious rice cake.

And if the song they wrote was a little gay too, if it made Eddie laugh a little too much everytime Richie would look at him with that earnest, sweet look on his face, then maybe being a little gay was okay. As a treat.

* * *

“I think we should do something, Rich,” Stanley whispered as they hovered in the kitchen and listened to Eddie having a nightmare in the guest bedroom of the Hanlons’ apartment above the bar.

He nodded and knocked on the door. Loudly.

“Eds?!” He called through the door.

“Rich, just wake up the rest of them, why don’t you?” Stan hissed.

“As if they aren’t all in bed awake listening to this shit anyway,” he barbed back. Mean, maybe, but Stan knew what he meant. He wasn’t mad at Eddie for keeping everyone up, even though he’d insisted on going to bed earlier and claiming the twin in the guest bedroom and leaving them to fight for the pullout in the living room. But he wasn’t mad, he was _worried._

“Eddie, we’re coming in!” Stan said through the door.

“What if he’s naked?” Richie teased but there was real worry that leaked into his tone. The other man blanched.

“Richie’s coming in, Eddie,” Stan corrected, patting Richie on the back in what felt like a ‘good luck.’

Stan stepped back and saluted him before walking down the hallway. Richie gave him the finger to his retreating figure.

He turned the knob of Eddie's room and found it unlocked. 

Richie stepped into the room and closed it with a soft ‘click’ behind him. Eddie lay in the bed motionless, stretched from one side to the other, clutching his throat and gasping.

“Eddie?” Richie asked softly, “Eddie, wake up.” He knelt down next to the bed and laid a hand on the other man’s shoulder. He shook it gently.

Eddie twitched and jumped away from Richie. 

“Rich?! Fuck, you scared me,” he whispered and rolled over to face him.

Richie retreated from beside the bed and stood again, feeling awkward now. “Uh— You were having a nightmare. Did you know that?” Richie cursed himself internally.

“Oh,” Eddie's face seemed to settle into a guilty understanding, “sorry, I thought I'd gotten that under control when I was a kid. Was it just tonight or-”

“--You were fine last night, I think. In my room. You gave us all a real fright waking us up like that. What's going on, Eds?”

“It’s just a nightmare I used to have, I guess the stress just got to me and it came back-” he rubbed his face with the hand not propping himself up, “-maybe I’m just bad with unfamiliar surroundings.”

Richie opened his mouth to point out that his room had been unfamiliar, too, but he stopped himself. It was too close to suggesting that Eddie felt safe with him. He didn’t know how to phrase his next sentence.

“Did you want me to get Bev or someone? I’m sure she wouldn’t mind… she could keep you company. Or Ben?” Richie rubbed the back of his neck. Bev was good to sleep beside. She didn’t move too much, and she kept enough space so you both didn’t overheat. That seemed like what Eddie needed: company, but not suffocation.

Eddie didn't seem to mind, so Richie had thought maybe he felt the same. Embarrassment flooded his senses at the memory of it.

He hadn’t felt that level of rejection since his father threw him out.

“Richie, would you mind staying with me?” Eddie paused and seemed to rethink his decision, “Sorry. What kind of grown man can’t sleep on his own, right? Nevermind. I'll buy some NyQuil tomorrow and knock myself out instead.”

Richie knew Eddie had sworn off most pharmaceutical medication. He was trying his best to stop the hypochondria his mother instilled in him. Was he going to give up his resolve just because of a few nightmares?

“Scoot over, slim-jim,” he replied, “I’ll stay.”

Eddie crumpled in relief, moving back to the edge of the bed, offering Richie space. 

“Thanks, Rich.” 

Richie's heart skipped a beat.

“‘Course, Spagheds.”

Richie settled on the other edge of the bed and tried to calm down his beating heart. He took off his glasses and put them on the bedside locker.

Richie felt a cold foot tuck itself underneath his calf. “Jesus, your feet are freezing.”

Eddie mumbled tiredly, already drifting off again. “Cold feet before the wedding isn’t good.”

“What wedding?” 

Eddie didn’t reply, but he sleepily reached out and laid an arm across his shoulder.

Richie tensed under him and listened as Eddie mumbled something into his pillow. He was already asleep again.

The next morning, Richie left before Eddie woke up.

He didn't ask him what his nightmare was about in the morning. In the hustle and bustle the next morning when they got up to leave L.A wordlessly agreed that they had more important things to sort out first. They would have the rest of their lives to figure it out, and to heal from whatever haunted his dreams.

* * *

**Eddie**

  
  


Piled into the van, lovingly called Silver by Bill— and a heap of junk by everyone else— with all of their most valuable belongings in the back, they drove off.

“Isn’t that dam you were telling us about somewhere off this road?”

“They should have the good, swanky tourist rest stops up there,” Beverly yawned. She had squashed into the back between Ben and Mike, seemingly enjoying the company, sprawled across both of them and sleeping through the first two hours of the journey so far.

Ben’s hand was almost imperceptible in the darkness of the van, but Eddie still saw it. Carefully placed behind her head, against the door, cushioning her from the bumps in the road.

Eddie vibrated in the front seat beside Bill and Stanley. They were the first three to volunteer to drive, and they had a long journey ahead of them to Flagstaff, Arizona. 

Maybe stay there for a few days while they got things sorted, and then head up to San Francisco, Seattle, Vancouver and from there. Bill hadn’t said anything, but he’d assured them he had a plan for when they got into North California. 

It was just a matter of making a week-long detour. But it was for Stanley, and it had been the only way he would agree.

He regretted choosing to sit up front. He was just annoying Bill with what he called being a “back-seat driver” and he was keying himself—and the other two—up more the further away they got. He should’ve sat in the back with Richie, but he’d panicked about the lack of seatbelts and declined Richie’s offer to cuddle on top of the nest of blankets and bags of clothes they’d made in the back.

He didn’t want the others to know. It wasn’t that weird. Hell, Bev was cuddling with Mike right then, and it wasn’t inherently sexual. But... Eddie knew that he did like Richie, and he thought almost positively that Richie liked him too, and he didn’t want to— fuck, what if he had misread everything and Richie was just trying to be friendly and now he’d made it weird?

He tried to drown out his thoughts with the conversation around him. If he gripped the bottom of his seat a little harder than normal, then that was his business.

“Big Tujunga Dam?”

“Yeah, that one.”

“We should take a break and stop there, let someone else switch over to drive.”

“Alright, pull off the 210 up here, take a left— “

“Yes, Rich, I can _read_ —” Bill snapped. Maybe leaving at 3am hadn’t been the best idea, but they hadn’t wanted to stay any later. After packing up all their things they’d wanted to leave as soon as possible, before, heaven forbid, Sonia Kaspbrak came looking for them, or Mike’s grandfather realised he was missing.

The van slowed down as they turned off the highway out of Los Angeles and towards the national park. 

Half an hour later they pulled into a lay-by with a view. The sun was slowly rising in the sky, reds and oranges creeping over the mountain tops. 

Loud cluttering interrupted his musings over the beauty of nature. He glanced over his shoulder to see Richie stumbling out of the back. He grinned. “You look like shit, sleepy-head,” he commented gently, not genuinely angry or annoyed.

The soft morning gold hour had calmed him the moment he’d felt the cool breeze on his bare face. He never would have thought he’d be there at that moment. Richie’s bare arms in his t-shirt sent a tingle down Eddie’s spine.

“Spaghetti,” Richie replied jovially with his voice still thick from sleep. With a pang of sadness, Eddie suddenly remembered how long Richie had been sleeping in the backs of vans.

Eddie invited himself into Richie’s unzipped hoodie and wrapped himself in the warmth of his body-heat. He was the perfect height to tuck his head under his chin and he relished the feeling of unreserved closeness.

Richie laid a gentle hand on his back, rubbing soothingly, “What’s got your’ pretty smile turned upside down, suga’?” 

“Thinking.”

“Oh, that’s what that burning smell is?” Eddie huffed a laugh and pushed away from him just enough to eat him from under his lashes.

If Richie felt the same way about him, he would do something about it, wouldn’t he? He hadn’t been reading too much into every word, every touch, had he?

“Do something about what?”

Eddie felt the flush shoot into his cheeks, “Did I say that out loud?”

“I— “ Richie was cut off.

“Guys!” Mike called out, a little ways down the road. Eddie jumped away from Richie and discreetly felt his cheeks with the back of his hands. They were _burning_ hot, even in the chill.

“What, Mikey?! This better be important!” Richie cupped his mouth and hollered back. Mike and the rest weren’t even that far away, but Eddie didn’t remember them even leaving.

“We’re going for a swim, are you coming?!” Mike grinned at them, gesturing them down. They could hear Beverly screaming from further down the road and Eddie seized up. 

“Swimming—? No way, it’s not sanitary— do you know how much bacteria fecal particles leave behind? No way, I’m not doing it—”

Richie grinned at him and Eddie took a step back, “No, Rich, don’t fucking touch me, asshole!”

Richie ignored him and bent down, grabbing him behind his thighs and hoisting him up over his shoulder. He let out a yelp and screamed as Richie began running—

All he could see was the back of Richie’s legs, his ass, for fucks sake, and thinking about that wasn’t going to help him look less like he’d just gotten out of a sauna 1,000 metres above sea level.

* * *

The gang came to a stop on the ledge on the cliff, the water sparkling below with the rising sun bouncing off of it. 

Beverly shucked off her dress and grinned at them, “Pussies!” she yelled and ran and jumped off the ledge. She disappeared from view and in his fit of fear and panic he forgot about his fear of falling off and leaned over the edge.

The splash she made was impressive and she resurfaced after a few seconds.With baited breath they watched. They collectively sighed in relief when she gave them blurry, double middle fingers from the water.

Quickly they each stripped themselves of their clothes and took turns taking a running jump off the edge. Every time their feet left the ground, Eddie held his breath until he heard a corresponding whoop and splash on the other side of the ledge.

He could do this. He’d done so much already, he could jump over a stupid cliff ledge. He knew how to swim, he would be fine. He wasn’t fine though, he was better than fine. He watched Richie glancing at him. 

He took a deep breath. 

“Richie, I think I’m in love with you,” he confessed rushedly. He looked out to the ledge. And then he ran. And he jumped.

He spent 22 years afraid. He wasn’t going to be afraid anymore, or else he’d die scared, miserable, and alone. If he died jumping off that cliff, or got sick jumping into the water, at least it was something he’d chosen to do for himself. He could die anytime, the future wasn’t promised. If he died, he wanted to at least have lived true, and fully, and _proud._

He took a deep breath and prepared himself for impact. The freezing water chilled him to the bone and he frantically tried to swim back to the surface, but— fuck, which way was up?

A hand latched itself onto his arm and he was pulled through the water and— he gasped a breath the moment he felt air against his face. He swallowed a little water that dripped into his mouth too.

“Fuck!” he yelled at nothing in particular. He searched his surroundings for the cliff they’d jumped off and let himself be guided away from the place where he’d landed.

A thin white blob stood on top of the cliff. His heart was racing.

It jumped. He held his breath, like that way he could keep track of how long Richie would be able to be underwater before he needed help, like he had. Beverly was the first to jump, hadn’t she needed help to resurface?

No.

Richie didn’t either, he surfaced on his own seconds after he’d landed.

Eddie swam over to him. He’d never felt so invincible. Like he could do anything.

Richie squinted at him, he didn’t even have his glasses on, he looked like a drowned mole rat like this, and still Eddie felt a tremor shoot through him.

“Spaggy? Is that you? I seem to have misplaced my bespectacles!” Richie crowed, paddling forward. Eddie put his hands on his bare shoulders— _his bare shoulders_ —and ignored the electric reaction his hand had to it. 

“You’re so stupid,” Eddie laughed, and Richie grinned and laughed, and he threw his head back in mirth, and fuck, Eddie was really in love with this idiot. He didn’t stop, nobody could stop him now, he was invincible, “and I hate you sometimes, you’re so annoying, but even when you get on my last nerve, I never want you to stop. I would listen to the British guy everyday if it meant I could hear your voice.”

Eddie pulled him a little closer, so he wouldn’t have to squint so hard. 

“I really love you, Rich.”

Richie’s mouth fell open and a broken laugh came out. “I… “

Eddie’s stomach twisted.

“That’s gay _,_ Eds,” he replied, finally. _Finally._ It was said so softly. With a grin that took up his entire face. It was infectious, and Eddie felt himself copying it before he even thought about it. 

Eddie felt like his heart was going to hammer right out of his chest. It wasn’t the confession he’d been hoping for, but it would do. If Richie couldn’t say the right words, that was okay. He didn't need his feelings to be reciprocated in order to revel in the happiness of feeling them, of experiencing the rush. He wanted it to be known, and hopefully for Richie not to run away screaming.

And that was enough. Whatever Richie could offer him was enough.

He laughed so hard he felt tears of relief running out of his eyes. This was what love felt like. Not what he’d had with his mother, but this. He knew he’d do anything for Richie, and he probably would for a very long time. It wasn’t the same as doing everything in fear of what would happen if he didn’t do it. It wasn’t to please Richie at the expense of his own happiness. It made him happy, sincerely, truly happy, and powerful, in seeing Richie happy and knowing that he had caused that. 

“I’m sorry, Eds. I— I feel it too, I just, I can’t say it, right now…”

“Hey,” Eddie held his jaw and caressed his cheek, “It’s okay, Rich. I can wait forever.”

“You shouldn’t have to… I’m like— I feel like I lo— I mean, it’s just,” he stuttered through it, his voice both tender and raw at the same time, “you deserve someone who can tell you just how they mean to you, like you did. To be romantic, like that.”

Eddie’s eyes shuddered closed and he rested his forehead against Richie’s, “That’s stupid. I don’t want anyone else, Rich. I want you, and everything that comes with that.”

He opened his eyes and stared in Richie’s. He would go cross-eyed for the rest of his life if he had to. If that was the consequence of staring at something so close, like his mother had told him about sitting too close to the TV, then it was worth it.

Richie leaned in and their lips met in the middle somewhere. They smiled into each other’s mouth, tasting the mineral water dripping from their hair, off their noses that were lined up together.

Eddie coughed as a shower of water hit them in the side of the face.

“Hey, stop necking and get a move on, we can’t hang around all day. Patty’s waiting,” Stanley scolded them. Eddie hid his smile in Richie’s shoulder, he could feel Richie’s laugh reverberate through his chest. He pressed a soft kiss briefly against his skin there and then he pushed himself away, swimming backwards.

Stanley rolled his eyes, but smiled at them anyway. “C’mon, let’s go.” He jerked his head in the direction of the others, who were swimming to the edge of the reservoir, a bank they could climb onto and walk back up the hill.

Eddie sighed. It would be a long walk back up. 

When they climbed out of the water, he grabbed Richie’s hand and walked back with him. He could feel the warmth of Richie’s smile from beside him. 

Ben didn’t say anything, neither did Beverly, or Mike, or Bill or Stan. It was like they’d already come to terms with it, almost expecting them to be holding hands. Like it wasn’t weird.

And maybe it wasn’t that weird. For all of his made-up ‘allergies’, and Richie’s Voices, maybe that was one thing about them, that wasn’t weird at all.

By the time they reached the van again, the sun had risen and they were all shivering. Huddling together under a blanket or two in the back of the van, warming up again—Eddie had never felt home like that. But it was a beautiful feeling.

He leant back and rested his head against Ben’s shoulder.

* * *

**Epilogue**

The next year of the ‘Losers’ turned ‘Shark Puppy’s lives were a rollercoaster of adapting to living out of each other’s back pockets and writing music, then rewriting it, then recording it, and then meticulously organising the money they made so they could eat and stay somewhere with hot water.

Their first line of gigs turnt out to be Bill’s greatest idea ever, and was still ongoing too— his lanyard collection in a black bag somewhere in the trunk came in handy. His brilliant idea to sneak into venues and cello tape and staple flyers for their shows everywhere turned out better than they’d hoped. They’d risked prosecution for trespassing if they were caught, but they hadn’t been caught, because Richie and Bill had smart-talked their way in and then escaped before they were spotted.

That got people in the door of clubs they wouldn’t have booked otherwise, as well as their collective connections with various other bands and friends from along the way.

Somewhere between San Francisco and Tacoma, they’d developed the ultimate friendship-saving guidebook to living on the road with seven other people; Patty, or “Babylove”-- depending on who you asked— included, of course. Stan’s one wish being making a pit-stop to bring her along with them. When Stan had called to ask her about her thoughts of abandoning the life they'd half planned out together, she'd been thrilled to hear it. 

Patty was a little wild sometimes, like a free bird soaring high above them all, rivaling Richie's energy sometimes. In turn Stan kept her grounded and was relieved to find out she approved. If it came down to joining his friends and possibly leaving Patty, or staying where he was and watching them leave him behind, he would choose staying for Patty every time even if it killed him a little inside.

A week after they’d picked her up in Arizona, with her bags packed days in advance from when Stanley had informed her of his plans, they’d passed through Las Vegas and they’d tied the knot. Everyone had cried, Bill the most, by some strange turn of events.

They’d all chipped in together for the two of them to get proper wedding bands once they’d arrived in San Fran. 

And it was there that they had a series of unfortunate, but hilarious, and definitely mortifying events that solidified the need for the set of rules.

It has started off only mildly disturbing. 

Richie had walked into the bathroom early one morning to brush his teeth. The shower had been running at the time but the curtain was closed, so it was fair game.

“Rich? Is that you?”

Richie blinked and wiped the sleep out of his eyes with his free hand. He pulled back the curtain— okay, so maybe they’d gotten a little too comfortable around each other after a month or so on the road.

Sitting in a shallow bath of cold water, tap running, was Bill, topless, wearing his mermaid blanket absolutely soaked to the bone and half-hearted makeup smeared on his face.

  
“Dude!” Richie slapped a hand over his eyes but had forgotten he was holding his toothbrush and almost poked his eye out doing so. “I thought you were like jerking it in the shower. Jesus, I didn't realise I was walking in on a private moment.”

  
“In what world is jerking off in the shower not a private moment?” Bill asked, frantically trying to pull the curtain back into place. Like he had any dignity left.

  
Richie abandoned his toothbrush carelessly by the sink, spat and left.   
  


They never spoke of it again. But they knew. And that was a little too much.

The next time something truly horrifying happened it was all five of them, walking in on Stan and Patty going at it in their cramped motel room after coming back from karaoke night. Beverly had burst out laughing but the rest of them were so embarrassed on Stanley’s behalf— not that there was anything wrong with taking it—that they couldn’t look at them in the eye for a whole day.

And then they were back on the road again, and tensions were high sometimes, as it was bound to be, but if anything it did their music wonders, their song “If This Tour Doesn’t Kill You, I Will,” had been received with enthusiastic responses whenever they played it. And they played better together even if they were angry or annoyed. They knew each other’s body language, their tics. Their music flowed together seamlessly. 

It was rare but possible for one or more of them to be so annoyed with each other that they refused to talk to each other, instead playing their instruments wordlessly and aggressively.

If anything it added to the energy of the room.

One of those instances was the reason for another rule to be added to the list. No board games, no card games, no competitive games whatsoever.

Not after the last time they played monopoly.

The story of what happened depended on who you asked.

If you asked Eddie he would say the others were petty and childishly angry with him because he was winning.

If you asked Richie, he’d say he didn’t realise letting Eddie get away with cheating would be such a big deal. But everyone knew that he was too caught up in the way Eddie looked when he thought he had done something sneaky that he didn’t really care how big of an argument broke out afterwards.

If you asked Ben he would say he didn’t remember. He would be lying.

Beverly would say that they had been having a grand old time, her, Bill and Patty, cheating at monopoly for _weeks_ before Eddie had started cheating too. And Eddie messed it all up, and Richie had just made it worse by being a lovesick fool, and Stanley was probably right, but he had been such a bummer that she wouldn’t agree with him out of principal. But she wouldn’t admit any of that to anyone, except Ben.

If you asked Stanley what happened that fateful Monopoly night, he would proudly proclaim that he was a converted homophobe and that it was their own fault, loud enough that Richie and Eddie could hear him.

It was the holiday season soon enough, and no one had any family to go home to except Bill and Ben. And Bill probably wouldn’t even be welcomed at his grandparents after taking off like he did. He still called Georgie every chance he got, but he missed him.

So they decided that they’d head down to Texas, only a state away from where they were staying at the time.

Ben’s mother had been very welcoming on the phone and after a lot of insisting, they tiredly packed all their equipment back up into the van and headed off to Texas and they skyped Georgie all together on Christmas day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TBC... 
> 
> A Year in the Life of Shark Puppy coming soon?
> 
> thanks for reading! please leave a comment if you enjoyed it!


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